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I'he  Biljiy  of  Si,    Catherine 


FROM  THE 
THAMES  TO 
THE   SEINE 

WRITTEN  AND  ILLUSTRATED 
BY  CHARLES  PEARS 


PHILADELPHIA 
GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  ^  CO. 

PUBLISHERS 


All  rights   reserved 


To  her  who  listened  to  the  rustling  wind^ 
watched  the  bending  branches  round  our  home^ 
and  waited^  long  and  wearily^  as  women  do. 


INTRODUCTION 

The  invasion  was  made  in  a  ship.  The  ship  was 
bigger  in  her  own  estimation  than  her  measurements 
would  justify,  and  in  this  I  agreed  with  her.  But  to 
come  down  to  bald  fads,  she  was  of  registered  tonnage 
2.65,  and  of  yacht  measurement  4  tons — which 
means  that  she  was  26  feet  long  over  all,  19  feet  upon 
the  water-line,  and  6.6  feet  wide.  I  have  reason  to 
be  thankful  that  she  was  rather  under-canvassed,  for 
otherwise  I  might  not  have  returned  from  my  voyage. 
To  these  particulars  I  might  add  that  she  was  sloop- 
rigged,  and  that  she  carried  a  centre-board,  which 
when  in  use  extended  her  draft  from  3  feet  to  6  feet, 
that  she  had  a  cabin  designed  to  sleep  two,  but  which 
has  upon  occasions  echoed  the  snores  of  four,  and  also 
that  her  name  was  Mave  '^loe. 

When  I  announced  to  my  uninitiated  friends  that 
I  was  bent  upon  this  voyage,  they  immediately  be- 
came uncomplimentary,  and  when  I  added  that  I  in- 
tended to  do  it  alone,  they  became  frankly  rude.  One 
of  them,  a  brother-painter,  with  a  large  moustache 
and  an  argumentative  manner,  went  so  far  as  to  say 
that  I  was  a  "  Withering  idiot."  All  this  served  only 
to  make  me  think  less  of  my  friends.  I  must  have 
seemed   to  the  last  of  these  candid  ones   somewhat 

vij 


Introduction 

like  the  proverbial  bear,  who  from  a  predilection  for 
honey  had  acquired  a  sore  head  ;  for,  to  use  that  most 
expressive  of  Americanisms,  I  "let  out." 

People  w^ho  ought  to  have  known  better,  and  books 
that  ought  to  be  burnt,  told  me  of  the  dire  conse- 
quences of  international  cruising  ;  and  one  point  that 
had  particular  stress  laid  upon  it  was — that  one's  yacht 
ought  to  be  registered  at  the  Board  of  Trade  Office, 
and  that  the  papers  of  such  registration  would  have  to 
be  shown  in  order  to  pass  the  Customs.  This  advice 
proved  unnecessary  ;  I  set  off  unregistered,  and  I  had 
not  the  slightest  trouble  in  the  matter. 

What  joy  to  start  fitting  out  my  little  craft  for  her 
intended  voyage — to  buy  grocery  stores,  &c.  ;  and 
how  pleasant  the  more  delicate  purchasing  of  materials 
of  war  from  Messrs.  Winsor  &  Newton,  Artists' 
Colourmen  (loot  were  impossible  without  them). 
But  Nature  seemed  dead  against  me  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  voyage.  She  gathered  all  her  dogs  of 
wind  and  rain  and  hissed  them  at  me  ;  and  when 
gentle  zephyrs  came  and  days  of  sun  and  quiet  seas 
were  granted,  they  were  only  days  upon  which  her 
hounds  might  rest  and  gather  renewed  energy.  In- 
deed her  face  (the  sky)  at  dawn  and  sunset — when 
she  seldom  hides  her  mood  to  be — was  ever  menacing. 
In  short,  I  could  not  have  chosen  a  worse  patch  of 
weather. 

However,  full  of  hope,  the  fitting-out  proceeded. 
Ropes  were  overhauled,  and  a  "  competent  man  "  was 
employed  to  caulk  the  decks  in  a  few   places  where 

viij 


Introduction 

water  dripped  through.  He  demonstrated  his  com- 
petence by  packing  the  small  places  so  tightly  that 
the  other  parts  of  each  seam  gaped  wide.  I  made 
this  bitter  discovery  shortly  before  I  set  off. 

It  had  been  raining  hard  the  whole  day,  and  when 
I  got  aboard  accompanied  by  a  friend  we  found  that 
our  bunks  were  covered  with  little  pools  of  water.  I 
had  a  conversation  with  the  "competent  man  "  which 
he  won't  forget  while  he  lives. 

When  bedding  has  to  be  packed  in  oilskin  bags,  it 
is  time  to  pray  for  fine  weather. 

Black  as  the  raven  was  the  outlook  as  the  cable 
chain  rattled  in,  and  the  muddy  anchor  came  aboard. 
But  the  rain  had  stopped,  and  a  little  ray  of  hope  came 
creeping  out  of  the  warmer  glow  of  the  westward 
sky. 


IX 


CONTENTS 

Introduction  vij 

I.   London  to  Ramsgate  i 

II.   Ramsgate  to  Calais  6 

III.  Calais  12 

IV.  Calais   to   Boulogne-sur-Mer  20 
V.   Boulogne,    Wimereux,  and    Le 

Portel  2  5 

VI.   Boulogne  to   Etaples  37 
VII.   Etaples,  Paris  Plage,  and  Mon- 

treuil  41 

VIII.   Etaples  to   the   Somme  51 
IX.   St.   Valery-sur-Somme  and 

Abbeville  57 
X.   St.     Valery-sur-Somme     to 
Le  Hourdel  and  from  there 

to  Le  Treport  75 

XI.   Le  Treport  and  Eu  81 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine 

XII.   Le  Treport  to  Dieppe  94 

XIII.  Dieppe  97 

XIV.  Dieppe  to  St.  Valery-en-Caux  105 
XV.   St.  Valery-en-Caux  no 

XVI.   St.     Valery-en-Caux     to     Le 

Havre  120 

XVII.   Le  Havre  and  Harfleur  127 
XVIII.   Crossing    the     Seine,    and    a 

description  of  the   Bore  138 

XIX.   Trouville  146 

XX.   Honfleur  153 
XXI.   Getting  out  of  Dock  at  Havre 

and  away  to   Fecamp  160 
XXII.   Fecamp    (Preparing    for    the 

Crossing)  167 

XXIII.  Crossing  the  Channel  174 

XXIV.  Anti-Climax  186 

Conclusion  194 

Appendix  196 


XIJ 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

In   Colour 

The  Belfry  of  St.  Catherine,  Honfleur        Frontispiece 

Last  Sight  of  England] 

\  To  face  page  8 
First  Sight  of  France  J 

Shrimpers,  Calais  i8 

Boulogne  28 

Montreuil  48 

Houses,  St.  Valery-sur-Somme  54 

St.  Vulfran,  Abbeville  64 

The  Somme  dried  out  72 

Le  Hourdel  76 

The  Canal,  Eu  90 

Market  Square,  Dieppe  102 

Cape  d'Ailly 


106 
St.  Valery-en-CauxJ 

xiij 


l62 


From  the   Thames   to  the  Seine 
At  St.  Valery-en-Caux  "To  face  page  1 1 2 

Curious  Cliffs,  Etretat  122 

The  Oldest  House  in  Le  Havre  128 

Sketches  at  Le  Havre  1 30 

Notre  Dame  de  Trouville  148 
Two  Views  near  Fecamp^ 
Cape  La  Heve                    J 

Sighting  Beachy  Head  182 

Passing  Dover  192 

In  Monochrome 

The  Old  Watch-Tower,  Calais  16 

Off  Boulogne  :   Night  22 

Three  Views  off  Etaples  38 

Etaples  46 

The  Somme  Canal,  Abbeville  62 

In  the  Steamer's  wash  at  Dieppe  94 

The  Sluice,  St.  Valery-en-Caux  108 

Tancarville  Canal  1 34 

Curious  Cliffs,  Fecamp  166 

Leaving  Fecamp  :   Midnight  174 

xiv 


Illustrations 

Drawings  in  the  Text 

Types  :   Boulogne  3  i 

Croi  Fort,  and  the  Sands  at  Wimereux  33 

The  Quay,  St.  Valery-sur-Somme  58 

The  House  of  Fran9ois  I  :   Abbeville  67 

Old  Mill,  near  Abbeville  69 

Cutting   adrift   the    Dinghy  :    Estuary   of  the 

Somme  76 

Types  :   Le  Treport  83 

Casino:   Dieppe  103 

Cottage  at  St.  Valery-en-Caux  1 1 1 

Honfleur  :  Wooden  Houses  in  the  Rue  Varin       157 


XV 


FROM    THE    THAMES 
TO    THE    SEINE 

CHAPTER   I 

London  to   Ramsgate 

'July  1 6,  1909. — The  port  from  which  the  start  was 
made  sounds  somewhat  inglorious  as  a  port — the 
Port  of  Hammersmith.  Yet  from  here  many  voyages 
of  discovery  have  been  made — discoveries  of  the  sea, 
the  sea  that  is  owned  by  the  man  who  owns  a  yacht. 
For  the  sea  is  yours  if  you  are  the  happy  possessor  of 
a  boat,  such  restrictions  as  there  are  being  for  your 
own  preservation. 

We  had  waited  for  the  tide  to  drop  sufficiently  to 
allow  of  the  mast  passing  under  the  bridge,  which  left 
us  only  a  third  of  the  tide.  The  bridge  was  cleared 
by  about  three  inches,  and  away  we  went.  With  the 
wind  aft  and  occasionally  none  at  all,  we  drifted  along. 
The  swirling  tide  rushed  us  through  the  bridges  with 
noisy  splatter  ;  through  the  outskirts  and  on  towards 
the  droning  city  which  was  outpouring  across  the 
bridges  its  earlier  stream  of  bread-winners. 

A  little  further  and  the  sparks  of  light  from  the 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  i 

gas-lamps  and  windows  bejewelled  the  fading  silhouette 
of  Charing  Cross.  The  huge  hotels  were  masses  of 
mystery;  each  building  was  pretending  to  be  a  filmy 
palace  of  fairyland  in  the  stately  masque  of  fading  day. 

We  were  almost  unconscious  of  movement  ;  this 
bejewelled  woof  of  a  city  seemed  to  be  whisked  past 
us.  Surely  we  were  the  only  real  things  about  the 
whole  of  the  dream  stuffs  that  were  around  us.  We 
rapidly  approached  the  Pool  of  London,  where  jostle 
together  crowds  of  tugs,  lighters,  barges,  big  ships, 
and  steam  tramps ;  these  last  from  all  quarters  of  the 
globe.  We  had  enough  here  in  the  handling  of  our 
little  craft.  Tower  Bridge  opened  as  we  passed  under, 
not  for  us,  but  for  the  bellowing  steamer,  which,  with 
slowly  revolving  propellers,  came  in  stately  manner 
from  out  the  velvety  dimness  of  the  approaching  night. 
Her  two  eyes — one  red  and  the  other  green — were 
glaring  at  us  with  the  awe-inspiring  stare  of  a  regal 
giantess.  Her  wash  set  our  little  craft  dancing  as  we 
passed  under  her  stern. 

Soon  the  crowd  of  anchored  vessels  began  to  spread 
themselves acrossithe  river;  the  ebb-tide  was  done  and 
the  sea  was  hurrying  through  London,  pushing  the 
river  water  before  it. 

Our  helpmate,  the  tide,  thus  turned  against  us,  we 
anchored  and  slept. 

'July  ijth. — At  I  A.M.  the  alarm  clock  aroused  us, 
and  soon  with  squeak  of  blocks  and  sound  of  fluttering 
canvas  we  set  sail.     All  around  us  were  many  sailing 


1  London  to  Rams  gate 

barges  and  the  pleasant  sound  of  rattling  winch  prawls, 
as  cable  chains  came  home,  was  echoed  across  the  river. 
We  thus  had  company.  The  rich  beauty  of  these  sail- 
ing barges  when  they  are  enshrouded  by  the  mystery 
of  night  cannot  be  dealt  with  by  a  pen,  they  cry  out  for 
a  brush.  Here  we  had  a  feast  of  these,  for  we  overtook 
clusters  of  them,  their  darkling  sails  towering  above 
us  as  we  glided  seawards. 

Towards  Greenwich  the  sky  began  to  grey,  and 
violet  shadows  were  playing  about  the  warehoused 
banks.  The  lights  along  the  shores  were  fading  ;  and 
soon  the  sun  spiked  the  towering  masts  of  ships  with 
blazing  light. 

At  Woolwich  the  steam-ferries  were  taking  their 
three  hours'  rest — three  hours  out  of  twenty-four. 

With  a  breeze  worth  having  we  were  rattling 
along.  The  town  of  Erith  passed,  we  soon  entered 
Long  Reach,  at  the  end  of  which  is  Greenhithe. 

This  town  has  quite  an  old-world  maritime  aspeft  ; 
there  are  several  of  the  antique  ships  of  war — those 
black  and  white  chequered  wooden  walls  now  used  as 
training  ships,  and  there  are  always  several  tall-masted 
clippers,  their  intricate  rigging  standing  out  like  filmy 
gauze  through  which  the  red  roofs  and  green  trees 
glow.  Here  one  can  imagine  the  bustle  and  stir,  the 
shouting  of  the  seamen,  and  the  loud  flap  of  canvas, 
the  rattle  of  the  capstan,  and  the  stately  movement  of 
the  grand  old  frigate  getting  under  weigh. 

The  Mave  '\RJioe  seemed  as  impatient  as  her  skipper 
to  be  getting  along  to  France,  for  it  seemed  no  time 

3 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  i 

before  Grays  was  passed,  and  Gravesend  with  its 
crowds  of  shipping  sighted.  Spluttering  along,  the  air 
felt  fresh  and  the  boat  was  now  in  her  native  element 
— good  salt  water.  From  Tilburyness  to  beyond  the 
Ovens  Buoy  we  ran  before  the  wind,  passing  Graves- 
end  like  a  train.  The  dinghy,  breasting  the  smooth 
water  like  a  steam-tug,  was  keeping  the  painter  as  taut 
as  a  bar  of  iron.  This  was  fine,  and  so  was  the  day 
overhead — the  first  day  of  sunshine  for  three  weeks. 

After  rounding  Lower  Hope  Point  the  spinnaker 
was  set  and  not  touched  until  we  got  into  position  for 
rounding  the  North  Foreland — a  long  straight  sail 
of  thirty-eight  knots  or  about  forty-two  statute-miles 
without  touching  a  rope. 

About  this  time  London  was  quivering  with  ex- 
citement, for  this  was  the  day  upon  which  the  mobilisa- 
tion of  the  Navy  in  the  Thames  was  to  take  place. 
The  historical  importance  of  this  event  is  so  assured, 
that  I  need  chronicle  no  more  than  to  say  that  we  saw 
the  fleet  in  miniature,  for  the  great  ships  were  distant 
objefts  to  us  as  they  approached  Southend.  Indeed, 
all  the  deep  water  channels  which  spread  out  like 
twisted  spokes  from  the  Nore  seemed  crowded  with 
these  sinister  symbols  of  our  national  strength. 

But  they  couldn't  do  what  we  were  doing  then — sail 
in  five  feet  of  water  !  This  we  had  to  do,  however,  in 
order  that  we  might  keep  a  straight  course  and  so  save 
time,  miles,  and  much  sail  shifting. 

In  bad  weather  these  parts  of  the  Estuary  are  boiling 
patches  of  sandy  foam,  and  should  a  craft  find  herself 

4 


1  London  to  Ra 7ns gate 

thereabouts,  at  such  times,  she  would  probably  leave 
her  bones  there  and  nothing  else  to  tell  the  tale. 

OfF  Heme  Bay  we  had  very  little  wind,  but  could 
iust  creep  along  against  the  tide  for  three  hours.  We 
met  several  yachts  coming  from  Ramsgate. 

Near  Margate — sweltering  with  tripperdom — we 
felt  the  joy  and  freedom  of  this  wide  expanse  of  water 
that  was  ours.  Still  more  when  a  crowded  pleasure- 
boat,  resplendent  with  a  rosy  and  very  realistic  long- 
shore skipper — yarning  as  ever — hove  up.  The  tinkle 
of  a  banjo  and  the  rattle  of  bones  floating  down  the 
wind  from  her  direcflion  grew  fainter,  and  was  soon 
drowned  by  the  gentle  hiss  of  the  surf  breaking  upon 
the  Rocks  off  Long-nose. 

A  little  farther  on  our  spinnaker  was  taken  in,  and 
we  hauled  our  sheets  to  round  the  North  Foreland. 

We  arrived  at  Ramsgate  by  4  p.m.  Fourteen  and 
a  half  hours  from  Wapping  (London).  Sixty-six  knots 
or  about  seventy-four  statute  miles. 

As  soon  as  we  entered  between  the  piers  the  harbour 
officials  in  their  boat  condudted  us  to  a  berth  alongside 
a  German  yawl  of  about  thirty  tons.  I  was  charged 
a  shilling  for  harbour  dues,  and  when,  in  reply  to  the 
query  as  to  where  we  were  bound,  I  replied,  "  Le 
Havre,"  the  more  jaded  official  exclaimed  :  "  Well, 
I'm  blowed  !  You've  got  a  'eart  in  you,  you  'ave  ! 
W'ot  if  you  get  caught  in  a  southerly  gale  }  " 

"  Here,  you  have  a  drink,"  I  replied,  as  I  handed 
him  a  bottle  of  stout. 

We  had  a  trot  ashore  and  then  turned  in. 

5 


CHAPTER    II 

Ramsgate  to  Calais 

yuly  \%tli. — The  sun  was  shining  brilliantly  as,  at  6 
A.M.,  we  passed  out  of  the  harbour  mouth.  Indeed 
this  was  far  too  brilliant  to  last. 

Spluttering  along  with  a  fine  southerly  breeze  we 
could  just  lay  to  the  Gull  Light-vessel  crossing  the 
Brake  shoals  upon  which  the  tide  was  boiling  and  the 
wind  throwing  up  quite  a  popple  of  little  sharp  waves. 

Nearing  the  Gull  we  saw  in  the  distance  the  wreck 
of  the  Marratta  reclining  upon  her  last  resting-place, 
the  Goodwin  Sands.  Oily  spikes  of  white  foam  were 
all  around  her  as  the  seas  broke  upon  the  thin  streak 
of  fawn  which  was  the  Goodwins. 

A  lot  has  been  written  about  the  terrible  Goodwin 
Sands,  which,  as  every  one  knows,  used  to  be  an  island. 
The  Sands  themselves  are  blamed  for  the  many  dis- 
tressing wrecks  which  have  long  since  been  drawn 
into  their  hungry  maw,  but  the  blame  might  well  be 
thrown  in  the  teeth  of  another  fa6tor.  Hereabouts  the 
winds  of  two  oceans  fringe  each  other  and  do  battle  for 
the  mastery.  Often  a  veil  of  mist  is  thrown  over  the 
vi(5tor,  but  should  peace  be  declared  between  the  two 
and  they  gently  caress  each  other,  a  modest  veil  of 
impenetrable  fog  hides  everything. 


ii  Ramsgate  to  Calais 

Thus  the  Goodwins — no  more  terrible  than  many 
other  sands — being  often  enshrouded,  are  a  terror  to 
the  unbroken  line  of  ships  that  ever  glide  along  their 
sides. 

The  Gull  passed,  we  stood  about  on  the  other  tack, 
and  the  wind  freshened  so  much  that  our  lee-deck  was 
awash.  For  a  little  while  we  kept  her  going  so,  but 
the  breeze  was  strengthening.  Moreover,  there  was  a 
big  black  cloud  coming  over  the  South  Foreland  which 
looked  savage,  so  I  got  down  a  reef.  Getting  a  reef 
down  with  decks  awash  and  the  sea  breaking  all  around 
is  a  wet  and  rather  exciting  business.  This  was  quite 
a  parlour-game,  however,  to  what  I  did  have  to  go 
through  upon  several  occasions,  as  will  be  seen  later  on. 

"  Snugged  down,"  the  yacht  seemed  eased  of  a  great 
burden  ;  she  flew  along,  and  the  going  was  quite  com- 
fortable. 

Anchored  between  Deal  and  the  South  Sand  Head 
was  a  battleship.  One  of  her  steam  launches  put  off 
and  passed  us  quite  close,  her  decks  crowded  with  blue- 
jackets. She  rolled  like  a  tub,  and  we  didn't  envy  them 
their  passage  to  Deal. 

At  last  we  arrived  off  the  South  Sand  Head  Light- 
ship which  was  to  mark  our  departure  for  Calais. 

I  have  endeavoured  to  reduce  technicalities  to  a 
minimum.  It  will,  however,  be  necessary  to  say  that 
the  tides  in  the  Channel  influence  the  movement  of  a 
vessel  so  much,  that  should  one  keep  one's  ship  point- 
ing upon  the  magnetic  bearing  of  Calais,  one  would 
eventually  find  oneself,  with  the  east  going  stream, 

7 


Frofn  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  ii 

somewhere  about  Dunkirk,  or  if  with  the  westward 
one,  somewhere  south-west  of  Cape  Gris  Nez,  which 
would  depend  upon  the  ship's  rate  of  speed. 

Therefore  it  will  be  seen  that  it  is  necessary  to  steer 
a  course  which  allows  for  these  influences.  It  is  in  the 
judging  of  a  correfted  course  which  ultimately  takes 
him  to  the  place  at  which  he  expected  to  arrive  that 
provides  more  than  half  the  pleasure  of  the  cruiser. 

I  had  arranged  all  my  corre6lions  to  courses  and  all 
the  passages,  tides,  &c.,  long  before  I  set  off.  There- 
fore all  I  had  to  do  throughout  my  voyage  was  to  put 
the  theory  into  practice.  After  all,  isn't  putting  one's 
theories  into  practice  the  most  interesting  thing  in  life  ? 
Well,  so  it  is  in  cruising. 

The  deep  water  was  a  dark  indigo  colour.  Frisky 
little  patches  of  white  were  seen  all  around  as  the  wind 
blew  off  the  crests  of  waves  and  churned  them  into 
feathery  foam.  The  threatening  cloud  which  was 
creeping  over  the  South  Foreland,  past  whose  sheer 
grey  walls  steam  tramps  were  stealing,  blotted  out  this 
distant  view  of  the  English  coast  in  a  downpour  of  rain 
and  no  more  was  seen  of  it. 

On  we  sped,  the  grovelling  sound  of  rushing 
water,  the  hiss  of  wind  through  the  bending  ropes, 
the  patter  of  rain  upon  the  tightened  sails,  were 
exhilarating  sounds,  for  this  was  our  first  rough  day. 
What  joy  it  was  to  rush  madly  down  the  sides  of 
these  hills  of  water,  and  slowly  rise  up  the  steeper  in- 
cline of  the  next  wave  which  passed  under  us  !  How 
pleasant  the  seething  sounds  of  new-made  spindrift  ! 


ii  Rams  gate  to  Calais 

The  cliffs  of  Blanc  Nez  may  often  be  seen  from 
Dover.  Surely,  I  thought,  we  must  be  within  six 
or  seven  miles  of  them,  yet  we  had  not  sighted  the 
French  coast. 

Straining  our  eyes  we  searched  for  it. 

A  thin  film  ahead  looked  like  land,  or — was  it  a 
hard-edged  wind-cloud  ?  Watching  it  closely,  its 
shape  did  not  alter.     Yes,  this  was  the  landfall. 

Soon  out  of  its  grey  haziness  darker  masses  grew. 
Then,  like  the  developing  of  a  negative,  the  masses 
began  to  mean  something  ;  the  lighter  patches  were 
white  cUffs,  and  the  darker  ones  were  earth,  grass, 
woodland,  and  distant  hills.  Soon  the  unmistakable 
shape  of  Cape  Blanc  Nez  was  almost  severely  indi- 
cated, so  clear  cut  were  its  edges. 

We  were  well  to  windward  of  Calais,  but  the  tide 
would  set  us  there. 

It  did,  with  little  enough  to  spare.  Soon  the 
water  began  to  alter  in  colour.  It  was  now  a  pale 
shade  of  green,  for  we  were  in  shallow  water  near  the 
coast.  Watching  the  land  we  found  ourselves  being 
taken  broadside  on  at  about  the  same  rate  of  speed 
as  the  wind  was  pressing  us  ahead.  Taking  a  bearing 
of  Calais  pier-heads  we  found  we  should  only  just  do 
it.  The  wind  grew  fierce,  but  we  couldn't  stop  to 
reef,  she  must  be  kept  going  somehow.  Wallowing 
with  the  press  of  canvas,  the  Mave  %hoc  staggered 
along.  If  we  missed  that  entrance,  the  sands  were 
waiting  to  swallow  us  up  with  little  chance  of  clawing 
off  them  against  wind  and  tide.     Granted  such  luck 

9 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  ii 

as  to  have  been  able  to  do  that,  a  night  spent  out 
there  would  be  exasperating  if  not  frankly  uncom- 
fortable. However,  we  did  what,  under  such  circum- 
stances, many  a  ship  has  failed  to  do — we  made  the 
entrance.  Up  went  the  ensign,  the  signal  which  in- 
dicated we  were  from  a  foreign  port. 

The  entrance  to  Calais  is  none  too  inviting  at  any 
time,  but  to-day  was  Sunday,  and  no  soul  was  to  be 
seen  until  we  were  well  up  the  harbour.  Then,  many 
native  sportsmen  were  discovered  fishing  with  long 
bamboo  rods,  and  others  pursued  the  gentle  art  with 
seine  nets.  The  place  seemed  deserted  save  for  them. 
Where  to  bring  up  was  the  assailing  doubt  of  the 
moment.  Presently  we  saw  some  arms  being  waved, 
and  a  voice,  "  Ve?iez  lelong  ici.  Messieurs,''  came  floating 
towards  us,  through  the  wind.  We  didn't  know 
what  it  meant,  for  it  didn't  sound  a  bit  like  it,  but 
as  the  antics  of  the  foreign  gentleman  upon  the 
quay  indicated  that  he  wanted  us  to  be  near  him, 
we  complied. 

The  little  knot  of  loafers,  large  and  small,  which 
had  gathered,  were  presently  pushed  aside  by  the 
Z)o«^«/<?rj- (Customs'  officers),  two  of  whose  members 
came  aboard.  "  Plenty  vind  !  "  the  phrase  that  was 
to  haunt  me,  was  then  for  the  first  time  uttered. 

The  fancy  costume  of  the  Douaniers  seemed  to  fill 
the  boat  with  a  sort  of  Musical  Comedy  crowd. 

A  conversation,  consisting  of  good  and  bad  French, 
some  English,  and  much  dumb  show,  proceeded.  I 
was  not  asked  if  I  had  anything  to  declare.     All  I 


ii  Ramsgate  to  Calais 

had  to  state  was  the  name  and  nationahty  of  the 
yacht,  her  tonnage,  the  name  of  her  capitaine,  and 
how  many  men  were  aboard,  I  was  then  asked  if 
I  wished  to  have  any  money  changed.  Messieurs  des 
Douanes  knew  of  a  cafe  where  I  could  get  it  changed. 
I  was  then  taken  via  the  cafe  to  the  office  of  the 
Customs  where,  after  much  memoranda  making,  I 
was  handed  a  passport  and  a  bill  of  health,  for  which 
I  paid  two  francs  ten  centimes,  which  charge  included 
a  sanitation  fee. 

Having  suffisred  this  visite  ordinaire^  as  it  is  called, 
and  the  ship  being  comfortably  berthed,  we  were  free 
to  inspect  the  town. 


II 


CHAPTER    III 

Calais 

It  was  Sunday,  though  one  wouldn't  have  realised 
it  but  for  the  presence  of  that  hohday  atmosphere 
which  chara6lerises  the  French  Sabbath. 

The  shops  were  busy,  the  cafes  sparkled  with  gay 
crowds,  the  plage  was  a  mass  of  happy  paddlers  and 
pleasure-makers  of  all  ages.  Trams  tooted  their  horns, 
and  care  seemed  cast  to  the  winds.  These  people 
were  no  doubt  of  the  tripper  order,  but  what  refined 
trippers  they  were.  They  had  none  of  that  cock- 
sureness  and  that  horrible  mirth  at  the  wrong  things 
which  stamps  the  English  tripper  as  an  ignoramus. 
He  doesn't  know  even  how  to  enjoy  himself. 

The  people  who  were  spending  the  day  at  Calais 
had  that  quiet  manner  and  nice  common-sense  that  is 
to  be  found  amongst  the  visitors  at  the  remoter  water- 
ing places  in  England. 

French  mammas  with  perhaps  a  couple  of  bare- 
legged children,  dressed  with  how  much  greater  taste 
than  those  of  their  class  in  England.  Papas,  ridicu- 
lously be-whiskered,  perhaps,  and  poor  affairs  com- 
pared with  the  women-folk,  were  gentle  in  manner, 
polite  to  their  wives,  and  playful  with  and  proud  of 


iii  Calais 

their  children.  They  were  not  bleared  with  beer, 
impertinent,  and  unmannerly.  The  French  tripper 
is  miles  higher  in  refinement  than  the  one  of  British 
birth. 

I  had  yet  to  see  a  French  crowd  roused  ;  yet  to 
learn  that  it  wants  but  a  spark  to  set  it  ablaze  with 
shrieking,  smashing,  horror-striking  temper.  Then 
the  nice  Papa  becomes  a  smis-culotte  fiend.  Then,  one's 
imagination  flies  to  revolutionary  times  :  the  tumbrils 
pass,  and  \h^  guillotine  is  slashing  off  the  heads  of  aristo- 
crats ;  the  modern  citizens  are  clothed  in  rags  ;  they 
have  little  red  caps  on  their  heads,  and  scythes  in  their 
hands.  Listen  !  sounds  of  the  Marseillaise  begin  to 
murmur  in  the  distance. 

A  French  crowd  roused  is  a  thing  to  be  seen — 
preferably  from  a  distance.  But  let  us  forget  their 
faults  and  probe  no  deeper  than  where  the  French 
are  best — about  the  surface. 

What  a  pleasure  it  is  to  drop  into  a  foreign  town 
fresh  from  one's  native  land.  What  a  great  differ- 
ence a  few  miles  make.  Here  is  a  new  notion  at 
every  end  and  turn.  In  these  first  hours  could  one 
wish  for  anything  better  than  to  sit  at  one  of  the 
little  round  tables  outside  one  of  the  many  cafes, 
there  to  gaze  at  the  passers-by. 

The  slovenly  soldier — what  a  lovely  colour  his 
trousers  are  !  Predominating  notes,  yet  how  well 
they  keep  in  the  pi6ture.  The  chequered  blouses  of 
the  women,  their  hair — for  generations  it  has  been 
done  in  the  same  style,  pulled  neatly  up  from  the  neck 

13 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  iii 

and  tied  in  a  simple  knot  upon  the  top  of  the  head  ; 
innocent  of  curling  pins,  its  native  beauty  has  been 
left  untouched  by  fashion's  changing  hand.  The 
little  faftory  girls  chatting  in  twos  and  threes  as 
they  hurry  along.  The  quaint  person  with  a  basket 
who  passes  the  time  of  day  with  the  quaint  person 
with  a  bundle.  The  little  boys  and  girls,  their  Grand- 
papas and  Grandmammas,  their  Uncles  and  Aunts. 
The  many  queer  costumes  which  bespeak  a  trade — 
from  the  baker  to  the  coal-heaver.  All  shades  and 
grades — poverty  and  wealth.  The  kindly  soul,  the 
cad,  the  simple  fool,  and  the  silly  fop.  The  gen- 
darmes, the  serving-maid  ;  even  the  very  dogs  in  the 
street.  All  these  are  so  different,  yet  they  are  only 
twenty  miles  or  so  from  England. 

As  I  sat  sipping  my  cafe  noir^  a  funny  little  old 
gentleman,  with  a  small  paint  pot  and  a  pair  of  steps — 
evidently  a  master  decorator — came  along  and  gazed 
upon  the  window  of  the  shop  next  door.  He  threw  a 
critical  glance  upon  the  window-pane,  making  many 
bird-like  twists  of  the  head.  He  loaded  his  pipe,  still 
contemplating  the  window.  Presently  a  passer-by, 
after  elaborate  greetings,  looked  at  it,  a  discussion  and 
much  explanatory  hand-waving  followed.  Then  the 
shop  door  opened  and  the  gentleman  of  the  shop 
emerged.  There  was  much  show  of  affection  between 
the  three,  the  decorator  and  the  shopman  embraced. 
Then  the  latter  twisted  his  head  about  in  contempla- 
tion of  the  sheet  of  glass,  the  hand-waving  was  resumed. 
Then  the  steps  were  placed  in  position,  and  the  shop- 

14 


iii  Calais 

man  and  the  passer-by  holding  them,  the  master  de- 
corator ascended.  He  tucked  up  the  sleeve  of  his 
overall,  and  w^ith  a  piece  of  chalk  wrote  upon  the  glass 
in  bold  type  :  English  Spoken  Here.  Then  he  de- 
scended, and  with  a  tragic  wave  of  the  hand  exclaimed, 
"  Voiia,  Messieurs  !  " 

The  shopman  raised  his  hat  in  respedt  for  the  genius 
of  the  decorator,  and  said,  "  Bon^  Monsieur  ;  tres  bonT 

The  opinions  of  more  passers-by  were  asked  and 
given ;  when  ultimately  these  went  their  ways,  discuss- 
ing the  matter  gravely  one  with  the  other,  the  de- 
corator again  ascended  the  ladder  and  painted  in  the 
simple  words. 

There  may  not  be  much  in  this  story,  but  what 
there  is  is  real  French.  The  Frenchman  finds  little 
to  do  that  his  wife  can't  do  better.  When  he  does 
find  a  job,  he  likes  a  lot  of  help,  makes  it  a  long  busi- 
ness and  a  matter  of  sentiment  which  is  remembered 
as  a  great  event.  This  may  have  little  to  do  with 
Calais  in  particular,  but  it  is  chara(^teristic  of  provincial 
France  in  general. 

But  what  of  Calais  the  town  ? 

It  is  rather  an  untidy  place  for  a  French  town.  The 
Place  d'Armes,  where  the  tower  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville 
has  remained  since  the  fifteenth  century,  is  the  central 
spot.  Here  Calais  meets  its  friends  and  has  its  cafe  noir. 
In  the  square,  towering  out  of  the  roofs  of  surround- 
ing houses  and  dwarfing  them  is  the  old  Watch  Tower. 
What  a  colleftion  of  old  bricks  it  is.  What  a  kindly 
memorial   of  the  olden  maritime  ideal — a  mark  of 

IS 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  iii 

peace  between  nations.  The  dear  old  leading-light, 
that  used  to  guide  the  ships  of  the  world  safely  into 
Calais.  Its  days  are  done,  yet  it  lingers.  Here  in  its 
beautiful  old  age  it  supports  a  network  of  telephone 
wires  ;  but  they  fail  to  rob  it  of  its  dignity.  Since 
1848  it  has  been  superseded  as  a  lighthouse  by  the 
magnificent  one  at  present  in  use.  Never  shall  I  forget 
the  effect  of  this  newer  lighthouse  as  I  stood  under  it 
that  night.  The  revolving  spokes  of  light  cast  away 
into  filmy  space,  in  all  directions,  looked  like  the  ribs 
of  a  huge  umbrella  being  turned  by  its  white  handle 
which  was  the  lighthouse  tower.  So  tall  is  this  that 
the  light  can  be  seen  from  a  distance  of  twenty  miles 
at  sea. 

The  church  of  Notre-Dame  is  tucked  away  amongst 
narrow  streets  where  its  mass  is  difficult  to  see.  I  could 
imagine  the  remarks  of  an  English  churchwarden 
whilst  he  gazed  upon  it.  "  Disgraceful  negle6l  !  " 
would  be  the  sum-total  of  his  criticism.  He  would 
miss  that  awful  neatness  and  generous  repairwhich  robs 
English  churches  of  the  charm  which  is  to  be  found 
in  those  of  theContinent.  Here, each  stone,  each  grass- 
grown  channel,  each  shaking  tile,  each  broken  slate, 
tells  its  tale  of  age. 

It  is  like  a  very  old  lady  who  is  not  ashamed  of  the 
wrinkles  in  her  face,  nor  of  the  drooping  eyelids,  the 
sunken  cheek,  and  the  thin  greyness  of  her  hair.  An 
English  church  is  for  ever  having  the  wrinkles  mas- 
saged out  and  the  hair  dyed  ;  it  is  neither  old  nor  young, 
and  so  is  robbed  of  half  its  beauty. 


16 


J...  twcjRit-*'"'    ~si  I,  '.^::^^ 


i#^- 


JS*,        <:k»,'=. 


■•■ffr_j. 


ft  X.-'s  .   .)£■». 


Z/ic  O^d  WaUh-Touer,  Calais 


iii  Calais 

This  church  of  Calais,  shaken  without  weakness, 
greyed  by  the  angry  winds  of  the  Channel  and  those 
fogs  that  blow  off  the  sea,  stands  doing  its  duty  still. 
It  bears  its  wounds  in  dignity,  conscious  of  its  lack 
of  grace — a  work-a-day  thing  that  has  remained  from 
the  Middle  Ages.  These  curtains  of  age,  despite  their 
delicate  tracery,  have  tried  but  failed,  however,  to  make 
the  building  other  than  it  surely  always  was — an  ugly 
pile. 

Near  here  is  the  pleasant  Jardin  Richelieu.  Wriggly 
green  tree  bolls  hold  aloft  splatters  of  little  light-green 
leaves  which  make  delightful  shade.  Nursemaids  push 
theirprams,  and  old  men  wait  for  the  school  to  let  loose 
its  clatter  of  boys  and  girls,  for  Grandpapa  is  charged 
with  the  taking  there  and  bringing  home  of  the  little 
scholars  of  the  family. 

Here  a  very  small  soldier,  in  that  absurd,  almost 
feminine  costume  of  one  of  the  Zouave  regiments,  was 
making  desperate  love  to  a  very  large  nursemaid.  His 
endeavours  to  encircle  the  huge  waist  of  the  lady  of 
his  affection  were  not  attradling  the  slightest  notice 
from  the  crowd  which  occupied  the  seats  alongside  the 
path  down  which  the  pair  were  strolling.  This,  with- 
out doubt,  would  have  raised  the  laughter  of  an  English 
crowd  ;  but  evidently  in  France  the  open  love  affair 
of  a  diminutive  man,  even  in  such  a  costume,  was  too 
serious  a  subjed:  to  jest  about. 

Beyond  herein  the  Place  Richelieu  there  is  a  fine  ex- 
ample of  the  work  of  the  great  sculptor  Rodin,  ere6ted 

to  the  memory  of  the  historic  burgesses  of  Calais.     It 

17  B 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  iii 

is  also  a  memorial  of  the  courage,  culture,  and  artistic 
insight  of  the  authorities  who  placed  it  there.  Need- 
less to  say  it  is  a  work  that  would  never  find  a  place  in 
one  of  the  squares  of  London. 

Away  from  the  town — there  is  little  else  to  see  ! 
Away  to  the  Plage — those  miles  of  finest  pale-coloured 
sand  !  What  a  purity  of  surface  awaited  us  !  Here 
and  there  little  pools  and  streamlets  scarred  the  shore 
and  reflected  the  white  clouds  that  were  hurrying 
across  the  deep  blue  sky.  On  we  walked  until  the 
casino  became  quite  a  small  affair  in  the  distance. 
Then  we  turned  towards  the  dunes,  and  climbing  over 
hill  and  dale  amongst  them,  we  stopped  every  now  and 
then  to  examine  the  little  sea  blossoms  that  grew  in 
this  unsympathetic  soil — sand-violets  and  curiouslittle 
red  and  yellow  things  that  we  knew  not  the  names  of. 
Then  towards  the  land  side  we  discovered  a  steep  slope 
of  sand  as  smooth  as  a  board.  The  temptation  was  too 
great,  we  must  needs  toboggan  down  it  and  fill  our  boots 
with  sand  for  our  pains.  Then  a  crucifix  attracted  our 
attention,  and  it  marked  a  cemetery,which  we  entered. 
It  was  a  burying-place  for  the  poor  fisher-folk.  Here 
were  little  houses  of  glass,  and  in  them  were  toy  angels 
flying  about  the  tinselled  representations  of  heaven. 
Tributes  of  "  lustre  "  ware  were  in  some  of  them — 
vases  for  flowers,  and  strange  knick-knacks,  the  reason 
for  which  was  obscure.  There  were  larger  stru6tures, 
more  elaborately  decorated  and  containing  less  tawdry 
symbols.  In  these  more  elegant  ones  a  chair  was  placed 
for  the  meditations  of  those  who  had  been  left  behind. 


■s 


iii  Calais 

But,  most  pathetic  of  all,  there  were  graves  marked 
only  by  pieces  of  rough  wood,  inscribed,  not  by  the 
professional  hand,  but  "  home-made."  Some  of  these 
were  green  with  age,  though  the  flowers  placed  upon 
the  little  mounds  were  fresh. 

Strolling  along  by  the  Bassin  des  Chasses  we  passed 
the  back  of  the  fortress.  Thoughts  of  invasion  flew 
to  my  mind — not  the  pleasant  kind  that  /  was  pur- 
suing, but  the  more  serious  sort — those  of  old,  away 
back  in  1 346,  when  Calais  was  blockaded  by  Edward 
III.  I  thought  of  its  eleven  months  desperate  resist- 
ance, and  of  its  fall  ;  of  the  six  noble  citizens  who  were 
forced  to  place  themselves,  clad  in  their  shirts  and  with 
halters  round  their  necks,  at  the  English  king's  disposal 
in  order  that  the  town  might  be  spared.  I  thought  of 
the  many  attempts  upon  the  part  of  the  French  to  re- 
take it,  and  then  of  the  five  hundred  Englishmen,  who, 
after  a  seven  days'  siege,  were  expelled  by  the  Duke  of 
Guise  with  his  thirty  thousand  men  over  two  hundred 
years  afterwards.  I  imagined  Queen  Mary's  outcry  at 
the  loss  of  the  town,  when  she  asserted  that  the  word 
"  Calais  "  would  be  found  engraved  upon  her  heart 
after  her  death. 

But  Calais,  after  being  taken  by  the  Spaniards  in 
1596,  was,  two  years  later  (by  the  Treaty  of  Vervins), 
restored  to  France,  since  when  it  has  enjoyed  peace,and 
its  windows  have  been  shaken  by  nothing  worse  than 
the  boom  of  guns  at  target  practice. 


19 


CHAPTER    IV 

Calais  to  Boulogne-sur-Mer 

'July  \c)th  and  20th, — We  got  under  weigh  at  6.30  p.m. 
It  had  been  a  glorious  day,  and  there  was  now  scarcely 
a  breath  of  wind,  so  we  had  to  row  out  of  the  harbour. 
I  expefted  from  the  look  of  the  sky  that  we  should  pick 
up  a  good  breeze  after  sunset. 

Once  outside  we  had  a  gentle  air  from  ahead.  The 
sea  was  quite  calm  until  we  came  to  the  Ridens  des 
Quenocs,  where  it  was  boiling,  spluttering,  and  kick- 
ing up  a  strange  fuss  and  noise. 

A  riden  is  a  shoal  patch  that  crosses  the  direction  of 
the  tide  at  right  angles,  and  the  French  coast  is  strangely 
remarkable  for  the  number  of  these  that  extend  from 
one  to  seven  miles  offshore.  They  are  not  dangerous 
save  in  that  they  cause  very  heavy  seas  to  run  on  them 
in  bad  weather,  and  they  are  to  be  avoided  on  this 
account.  As  it  was  (even  with  the  light  evening  air 
that  we  then  had),  when  we  entered  this  swirl  of  water 
the  boat  was  pitched  and  twisted  about  considerably, 
and  we  congratulated  ourselves  that  the  wind  was  no 
stronger. 

Afterwards  we  enjoyed  a  nice  sailing  breeze,  and 
abreast  of  Cape  Blanc  Nez,  as  we  tacked  along,  the  sun 


iv  Calais  to  Bou/ogne-sur-  Mer 

began  to  redden  in  the  west.  As  is  their  custom  at 
this  hour,  wild  duck  were  flying  across  the  sea  about 
a  yard  above  its  surface  in  little  strings.  And  as  the 
sun  set,  these  all  gathered  together  and  flew  off  in  a 
straight  line,onefollowing  the  other,a  spaceof  a  foot  or 
so  between  each  bird,  ever  increasing  in  number  until 
the  flock  extended  quite  a  mile  in  an  unbroken  line. 
Suddenly  the  leader  turned  towards  the  shore  and,  all 
following,  the  file  of  birds  crossed  astern  of  us  and  flew 
away  into  the  distance. 

Night  came  on  before  we  reached  Gris  Nez,  and  the 
eleftric  flashes  of  one  of  the  most  powerful  lighthouses 
in  the  world  played  upon  us,  illuminating  the  sails  and 
glaring  like  a  searchlight  upon  the  cliffs  that  happened 
to  come  within  the  range  of  its  rays.  Past  this  the  blue- 
black  night  blotted  out  everything  but  the  dark  smear 
that  we  knew  was  the  shore.  Following  this  the  line 
of  lights  that  indicated  the  village  of  Audresselles  were 
seen,  andthe  more  distant  thoughbrighter  onesof  Cape 
I'Aprech  lighthouses  blazed  ahead.  These  last  were 
the  leading-lights  for  Boulogne. 

Soon  the  sound  of  the  surf  breaking  upon  the  shore 
a  mile  away,  together  with  the  limply  hanging  canvas 
and  the  quiet  sea,  told  us  we  were  becalmed. 

We  made  no  stir  in  the  water  ;  not  the  slightest 
ripple  came  from  off  her  bows,  the  dinghy's  painter 
hung  limp,  and  all  seemed  lifeless.  Yet  no  doubt  in  the 
deep  below  us  the  horrible  strife  and  cannibalism  was 
going  on,  for  fish  is  food  for  fish,  and  fish  are  ever 
hungry.     What  was  that  ?     A  loud  splash  and  a  tear- 


21 


From  the  Thatnes  to  the  Seine  iv 

ing  of  the  waters  ahead.  A  murder  for  a  meal.  No 
outcry.  Nothing  left  to  tell,  save  the  oily  rings  of 
wavelets  that  spread  out  from  where  the  deed  was  done. 
The  sea  can  keep  a  secret  well. 

The  surf,  like  the  breathing  of  a  child  asleep,  could 
still  be  heard.  That  was  very  pleasant,  but  we  began 
to  worry  about  the  tide  ;  it  would  soon  be  setting 
against  us  at  three  and  a  half  knots  per  hour. 

Had  the  sky  lied  .?  Was  there  to  be  no  wind  ?  If 
not  we  must  quickly  find  an  anchorage  !  What  depth 
of  water  were  we  in  t  Over  went  the  lead.  Down, 
down,  down,  leaving  a  trail  of  brilliant  emerald-green 
phosphorus  behind  it  as  it  sank.  Down  it  sank  until 
the  line  was  all  paid  out.  The  lead  had  not  reached 
the  bottom.  We  knew  we  could  not  anchor  there.  To 
turn  shorewards  after  a  glance  at  the  chart  was  the  only 
thing  to  be  done.  To  find  holding  ground  somewhere 
was  imperative  or  the  tide  would  set  us  on  the  rocks  at 
the  foot  of  Gris  Nez. 

The  oars  are  things  I  loathe  using.  They  are  the 
insignia  of  surrender.  Yet  these  "wooden  topsails,"  as 
they  are  called  by  sailor-folk,  were  being  got  ready, 
when  glancing  astern  upon  the  distant  surface  of  the 
sea,  we  saw  a  blackening  line  coming  towards  us.  Soon 
the  water  all  around  darkened  and  a  clammy  coldness 
stole  upon  our  faces.  The  wind  had  come  and  it  was 
aft.  Indeed  we  now  raced  along,  scorning  the  tide, 
throwing  up  a  churning  bow-wave,  bejewelled  with 
brilliant  sparks  of  phosphorus,  which,  like  floating 
emeralds,  rushed  alongside  and  illuminated  our  wake. 


^ 


iv  Calais  to  Bouiogne-sur-Mer 

Ever  strengthening,  the  wind  was  bellying  out  the  sails 
and  whistling  through  the  ropes  until  the  topsail 
seemed  likely  to  blow  out  of  her.  But  the  lights  of 
Boulogne  were  not  in  sight,  so  the  topsail  could  stay 
until  it  burst  for  all  we  cared,  such  was  the  exhilara- 
tion of  this  race  against  the  tide. 

Presently  lights  hove  up  ahead  and  we  were 
busy  trying  to  pick  the  jetty  lights  from  out  the 
maze  of  them,  when  suddenly  a  blaze  of  light  showed 
up  a  fishing-boat,  which  crossed  our  bows  within  a 
yard  or  two.  Voices  hailed  us  as  we  rushed  past. 
That  was  rather  too  startling,  so  we  kept  a  sharper 
look-out.  By  this  time,  as  is  always  the  case  here 
with  wind  opposed  to  tide,  a  big  sea  had  got  up, 
and  the  fishing-boat  away  astern  was  occasionally 
lost  to  sight  in  the  hollow  of  a  wave,  and  then  would 
rise  out  into  the  glaring  light  of  Gris  Nez. 

Others  were  scattered  about  blotting  out  the 
lights  ahead  and  kicking  their  heels  at  us  as  we  passed 
them.  They  each  carried  a  white  light  which  occa- 
sionally was  hidden  by  their  sails. 

A  little  while  and  the  harbour  lights  were  brought 
in  line  ;  then  with  a  groan  the  boom  was  jibed  over 
and  we  shot  towards  the  jetties.  Day  was  break- 
ing as  we  entered  between  them,  and  the  sea  hissed 
through  the  piles  as,  robbed  of  wind,  we  slowly  crept 
through  the  calm  water  towards  the  port. 

The  lights  scattered  amongst  the  mosaics  of 
buildings  were  raw  and  yellow  in  the  cold  grey  haze 
of  dawn.     The  quay  alongside  which  we  brought 

23 


F?'om  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  iv 

up  towered  its  slimy  side  high  above  us,  for  the  tide 
was  well  spent.  The  interview  with  the  Douanier 
over,  we  slept  until  sounds  of  mirth  aroused  us. 

Looking  out  of  the  hatchway,  a  boy  was  sitting 
in  our  dinghy  trying  to  capsize  the  boat,  to  the 
amusement  of  a  crowd  upon  the  quay  above.  Indeed, 
the  two  days  the  yacht  lay  in  Boulogne  harbour 
served  to  prove  one  thing  at  least — that  the  enfant 
Boulogne  is  a  fiend  incarnate.  Our  petit  canot  was 
a  spicy  bit  upon  which  to  feast  his  devilry.  Once 
we  found  the  boat  swamped,  another  time  one  oar 
was  missing,  and  the  last  night  we  could  not  find  her 
at  all.  We  had  to  get  a  boatman  to  search  for  her, 
and  eventually  she  was  discovered  with  a  couple  ot 
these  horrible  youngsters  gracefully  rowing  her  up 
and  down  the  harbour  entrance. 


24 


CHAPTER   V 

Boulogne,  Wimereux,  and 
Le   Portel 

Boulogne  is  a  clean,  smart  town  situated  upon  the 
river  Liane.  It  is  blessed  with  over  a  thousand 
English  residents,  all  of  whom  say  they  live  there 
because  living  is  cheap  ;  but  many  prefer  to  dwell 
there  because  the  climate  is  not  as  hot  as  it  might  be 
for  them  in  their  native  land.  The  French  consider 
it  an  important  seaport,  and  indeed  it  is  the  fourth 
greatest  port  of  France.  An  endeavour  to  make  it 
rank  higher  than  this  was  attempted  in  1879. 
Extensive  operations  were  begun  with  a  view  to 
enlarging  the  harbour,  but  owing  to  lack  of  funds  it 
remains  unfinished.  The  Bassin  a  flot,  where  ships 
lie  along  the  quays  and  discharge  their  cargoes,  was 
built  by  Napoleon  as  a  resting-place  for  the  flotilla 
which  was  to  convey  his  troops  to  England.  He 
had  collefted  an  army  of  172,000  infantry  and  9000 
cavalry.  These  were  encamped  to  the  northward  of 
Boulogne.  In  the  harbour  there  were  2413  craft  of 
various  sizes  ready  to  transport  the  troops  ;  these  only 
awaited  the  arrival  of  the  fleets  from  Antwerp,  Brest, 
Cadiz,  and  the  Mediterranean,  which  fleets  had  been 

25 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  v 

growing  for  years  for   the  purpose  of  turning  Old 
England  into  a  Republic. 

Sir  Robert  Calder  destroyed  all  hope  of  the  union 
of  these  fleets,  and  Nelson  at  Trafalgar  absolutely 
smashed  all  idea  of  the  expedition.  But  this  was  in 
1804—5,  and  France  is  no  longer  at  the  mercy  of 
unscrupulous  ambition.  She  has  settled  down  to 
peaceful  ways,  and  a  better  understanding  between 
the  nations  has  sprung  up  which  recently  blossomed 
into  r 'Entente  Cordiale.  This  had  to  be,  for  the  two 
nations  have  much  to  give  each  other. 

As  for  Boulogne — do  not  the  fast  steamers  from 
Folkestone  deposit  wealthy  passengers  and  motor 
cars,  and  return  with  poor  passengers  and  baskets  of 
fruit  .? 

We  will  not  hasten  away  from  the  harbour,  for  it 
is  a  busy  sight.  Here  the  big  tan-sailed  luggers  come 
and  go,  huge  drifters  go  greedily  to  sea  and  come 
back  gorged  with  fish,  and  the  little  mackerel  boats 
from  St.  Valery-sur-Somme  give  a  touch  of  quaint 
pi6turesqueness  to  the  scene. 

If  it  is  near  high  water,  big  ships  will  be  seen 
entering  dock  ;  and  the  arrival  of  the  Folkestone 
boat  is  always  an  interesting  thing  to  watch.  Each 
time  we  saw  her  she  was  filled  with  "  green  "  faces, 
her  passengers  were  wet  with  spray,  and  signs  of  a 
bad  passage  were  obvious. 

You  must  visit  the  Fish  Market,  which  is  held 
early  in  the  morning  in  the  Halle  by  the  quay. 
There  you  will  see  the  fishwives  in  their  remarkable 

26 


V       Boulogne^  Wimereux^  and  Le  Portel 

lace  bonnets  and  huge  earrings,  their  short  skirts,  and 
pattens.  You  will  see  the  shouting  fishermen  carry- 
ing their  loads  of  herring,  sole,  and  mackerel.  How 
different  in  charad:er  these  old-world  fisher-folk  are 
from  the  other  inhabitants  of  the  town.  They  occupy 
a  separate  quarter  on  the  western  side,  called  La 
Beurriere.  There  they  keep  to  themselves,  and  the 
new  idea  is  a  thing  to  be  ridiculed. 

We  have  had  enough  of  salt  water,  so  let  us 
wander  into  the  town.  The  principal  shops  are  in  the 
Rue  Victor  Hugo  and  the  Rue  National.  Shops  in 
a  foreign  town  are  always  interesting,  as  much  in  the 
manner  of  displaying  them  as  for  the  character  of  the 
wares.  We  wander  along  until  we  come  to  the 
Place  Dalton,  where  the  web  of  tramways  comes  to  a 
centre,  then  along  the  Grande  Rue  up  the  steep  hill  to 
the  Haute  Ville. 

The  Haute  Ville,  or  older  portion  of  the  town,  is 
separated  from  the  Basse  Ville,  not  only  by  the 
eminence  upon  which  it  is  built,  but  by  its  ramparts, 
dating  from  the  thirteenth  century.  We  enter  this 
through  one  of  the  four  huge  gateways.  What  a 
difference  !  The  scene  had  the  effeft  of  a  medieval 
town  quaintly  planned,  beset  by  strange  nooks  and 
corners. 

The  church  of  Notre-Dame  was  erefted upon  thesite 
of  a  Gothic  church  destroyed  in  1793.  Notre-Dame 
may  be  modern,  but  it  fits  in  the  picture  as  though  it 
had  been  there  since  1065,  when  Godfrey  de  Bouillon 
was  born  in  the  castle  upon  the  site  of  which  the  Hotel 

27 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  v 

de  Ville  now  stands.  What  does  it  matter  that  the 
church  is  in  the  degraded  Italian  style,  and  that  it  was 
finished  as  recently  as  1866  ?  Lack  of  repair  has  done 
what  the  architect  could  not  do — it  has  made  it  fit  in 
the  picture. 

You  will  go  inside  it,  after  dropping  a  copper  in  the 
cap  of  the  beggar  at  the  door  ;  you  will  admire  the 
elaborate  high-altar  wrought  in  the  city  of  Rome  at 
the  expense  of  Prince  Torlonia.  May  you  not  en- 
counter a  crowd  of  Cook's  conducted  tourists  as  we 
did.  If  you  do,  you  will  doubtless  hasten  away  to  get 
a  breath  of  freedom  upon  the  ramparts. 

Strolling  upon  the  walls  you  will  have  an  extensive 
view  of  the  town,  the  seaboard,  and  the  distant 
country.  You  will  come  to  the  chateau  in  which 
Louis  Napoleon  was  thrust  after  the  attempted  in- 
surrection of  1840.  This  is  the  ancient  citadel  of 
Boulogne  ;  it  has  the  age  of  seven  centuries  weighing 
upon  its  shoulders,  and  it  is  still  doing  its  duty,  for  it 
is  now  used  as  a  barracks.  As  one  looks  upon  it,  with 
its  sprinkling  of  soldiers  coming  and  going,  it  seems 
for  all  the  world  like  a  toy  fort  with  tin  soldiers ;  indeed, 
one  experts  a  little  boy  to  come  along  with  a  penny 
cannon  and  pot  at  the  thing,  playing  havoc  amongst 
its  tin  defenders.  At  best  the  artillerymen  one  sees 
there  seem  to  be  playing  at  soldiers. 

It  is  a  pleasant  walk  under  the  shady  trees  that 
crown  the  walls,and  presently  you  will  look  down  upon 
the  park  known  as  the  Tuileries,  where  concerts  are 
given  in  the  summer  and  where  are  tennis-courts  made 

28 


I«^  -^t 


V      Boulogne^  JVimereux^  and  L,e  Porte! 

of  some  terra-cotta  coloured  surface,  with  the  courts 
marked  by  embedded  ribbons  of  zinc.  We  saw  some 
wonderful  tennis  there;  it  was  being  demonstrated  by 
four  very  stout  elderly  gentlemen.  They  were  going 
at  it  with  such  energy  as  to  suggest  the  redudion  of 
weight,  and  one  could  imagine  their  deciding  who  was 
the  winner  of  the  game  after  comparing  weights — the 
one  who  had  lost  the  most  to  be  the  winner. 

Soon  we  descended  from  the  wall  and  were  whisked 
giddily  by  one  of  the  trams  down  the  straight  hill  to 
the  Basse  Ville.     We  alighted  near  the  casino. 

The  sands  attrafted  me. 

Lined  along  the  beach  are  rows  of  bathing  tents, 
tightly  squeezed  together,  like  streets  of  workmen's 
dwellings.  They  are  not  used  for  bathing  from,  but 
as  shelters  in  which  the  French  Mamma  may  do  her 
needlework  and  entertain  her  friends,  whilst  little  boys 
and  girls  make  castles  in  the  sand.  The  little  girls 
wear  breeches,  and  thus  they  are  distinguishable  from 
the  boys  only  in  that  they  are  healthier  looking  scraps 
of  humanity. 

The  Etablissement  des  Bains  with  its  garden  is 
between  these  and  the  east  jetty.  The  garden  is  open 
to  the  public,  but  non-residents  pay  twenty  centimes 
for  admission  whilst  the  concerts  are  in  progress. 
There  is  here  a  swimming-bath,  which  may  be  used 
when  the  sea  is  too  rough  for  bathing. 

A  stroll  along  the  Boulevard  St.  Beuve  (the  eminent 
critic  was  born  at  Boulogne)  will  bring  us  amongst  the 
fashionable  and  wealthy  visitors.     Along  here  where 

29 


From  the  T^hames  to  the  Sei?2e  v 

the  big  hotels  and  elegant  villas  are  situated  the  people 
promenade.  Dashing,  and  daringly  dressed,  the  French- 
woman is  everything,  the  man  a  mere  hanger-on. 

Night  was  coming  on  and  we  must  needs  dine  pre- 
viously to  visiting  the  casino.  There  were  plenty  of 
cafes  near  by.  We  selected  one  which  was  newly 
opened,  for  it  looked  lively,  moreover  there  was  a  band 
there.  Since  this  place  had  opened  it  had  been  the 
rendez-vous  of  the  fisher-folk,  who  in  the  evening 
assembled  outside  to  listen  to  the  music  and  stare  at 
the  diners.  Apparently  the  proprietor  was  annoyed 
by  this  audience,  for  he  indulged  in  a  little  sarcasm. 
Picking  up  a  pair  of  opera  glasses,  he  offered  them  to 
one  of  the  occupants  of  the  front  row,  an  elderly  lady, 
with  the  remark  :  "  Here,  Madame,  you  will  see 
much  better  with  these."  It  had  no  effeft,  however, 
the  crowd  remained  stolidly  staring  and  lingered 
unmoved. 

Afterwards  to  the  casino,  there  to  see  the  play. 
What  a  deadly  dull  form  of  entertainment  it  is.  Were 
it  not  for  the  variety  of  "  types  "  one  sees  around  the 
tables,  what  other  attra6tions  would  it  have  for  any 
one  who  is  not  a  gambler  .?  Certainly  the  skill  with 
which  the  little  rakes  are  used  in  scooping  in  the  win- 
nings of  the  bank,  and  the  precision  with  which  the 
coins  are  thrown  to  pay  its  losses  are  worth  seeing. 
The  jingle  of  coin  may  have  a  fascination,  and  the  ir- 
responsible ball  as  it  rolls  about  the  tiled  circle,  until  it 
settles  upon  the  fateful  number,compels  attention  ;  but 
the  voice  of  him  who  sets  it  rolling,  with  his  "  Faites 

30 


Types  :  Boulogne 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  v 

vos  jeux^  Messieurs,''  and  his  ^'■Rt'en  ne  va  plus,''  strikes 
the  keynote  of  the  whole  thing — monotony. 

There  had  been  little  sunshine  lately  to  draw  the 
butterflies  to  Boulogne,  and  the  restaurant  at  the 
casino  was  not  the  bright  scene  that  it  usually  is. 
The  theatre  in  the  same  building  poured  out  during 
the  entr'acte  a  small  crowd  and  one  devoid  of  any 
particular  distinction,  which  is  not  the  case  when  the 
town  is  full  of  visitors. 

The  following  day  the  steamer  brought  many  of 
that  type  of  Englishmen  who,  whilst  travelling  no 
farther  than  Boulogne,  thinks  he  knows  the  Continent. 
He  who  usually  loses  a  few  shillings  at  the  casino, 
in  a  vain  attempt  to  break  the  bank,  thinks  he  is 
regarded  as  a  prince,  and  eventually  returns  home 
with  a  few  pifture  post-cards  which  he  hides  from 
his  women-folk. 

Boulogne  is  remarkable  for  its  rather  vulgar  mod- 
ernity, to  which  the  ordinary  tripper  contributes  not 
a  little. 

There  are  two  villages  near  Boulogne,  Wimereux 
and  Le  Portel.  They  are  both  reached  by  the  tramway. 

The  route  to  Wimereux  passes  the  Boulevard  St. 
Beuve,  then  it  mounts  up  to  the  top  of  the  cliffs  and 
runs  along  near  the  coast.  There  are  extensive  forti- 
fications near  the  Point  de  la  Creche,  and  beyond 
these,  to  the  south-east,  can  be  seen  the  Colonne  de 
la  Grand  Armee,  which  marks  the  situation  of  Napo- 
leon's camp.  The  foundation-stone  of  the  Column 
was  laid  by   Marshal  Soult,  the  whole  army  being 

32 


V       Boulogne^  Whnereiix^  and  L,e  Porte  I 

present  at  this  great  event,  for  the  monument  was  to 
commemorate  the  downfall  of  England.  As  we  have 
seen,  this  expedition  never  came  off,  and  the  monu- 
ment remained  in  an  unfinished  state  until  Louis 
XVIII  set  about  the  work,  which  when  finished  was 
to  mark  the  restoration  of  the  Bourbons.  But  it  was 
not  completed  until  1841,  when  it  received  the  title 
it  now  bears.     The  Column  is  172  feet  high,  and  it 


.c^  x-eAr---,.     ■■>') 


Croi  Fort,  and  the  Sands  at  Wimereux 

is  topped  by  a  statue  of  the  Emperor,  which  is  said 
to  be  one  of  Bosio's  finest  works. 

Napoleon  seems  to  have  been  very  energetic  in 
this  distrift,  for  at  Wimereux  in  1803  he  excavated 
a  harbour  there  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  Wimille. 
All  trace  of  the  harbour  has  vanished  however,  for  in 
after  years  a  flood  broke  down  the  sluice-gates,  the 
channel  and  piers  were  soon  swept  away,  and  the 
harbour  filled  up  with  sand  and  shingle.  Out  amongst 
the  rocks  and  beaten  by  the  roaring  waves,  the  ruins 
of  the  Croi  fort  remain,  still  clinging  to  the  past,  as 

33  c 


From  the  "Thames  to  the  Seine  v 

though  loath  to  forget  the  grand  idea  that  caused  its 
eredlion. 

Wimereux  is  now  a  fashionable  watering-place. 
Many  English  families  spend  their  summer  holidays 
there,  though  for  France  it  is  rather  an  expensive 
place.  It  has  excellent  sands,  and  a  little  way  from 
the  village  is  a  very  fine  casino.  There  are  elegantly 
furnished  villas  to  be  had,  both  facing  the  sea  and 
in  the  town,  at  very  little  cost  compared  with  similar 
habitations  in  England.  There  are  also  two  fine 
hotels,  and  the  shops  in  the  town  are  of  a  very  good 
class.  Wimereux  lays  itself  out  to  cater  for  the 
more  refined  families,  who  want  not  the  rowdyism 
and  gaiety  of  Boulogne. 

The  tramway  to  Le  Portel  commences  near  the 
railway  station  in  the  Place  de  la  Republic  ;  from 
thence  it  runs  along  by  the  Bassin  a  flot,  along  the 
Boulevard  de  Chatillon,  and  up  the  steep  hill  towards 
Henriville.  Here  we  obtain  a  fine  bird's-eye  view 
of  Boulogne,  which  stretches  up  from  the  valley  of 
the  Liane  to  the  crowning  dome  of  Notre-Dame. 
It  makes  a  grand  panorama,  along  which  the  eye 
travels  from  the  tall  smoke-stacks  of  manufactories, 
past  the  spidery  rigging  of  ships  in  dock,  to  the 
modern  hotels,  the  casino,  and  the  sea.  Soon  the 
tramway  suddenly  leaves  the  road  and  becomes  a 
single-line  railway,  sweeping  across  the  country 
through  cuttings  and  over  little  bridges  just  like  a 
toy  railway,  until  presently  the  crude  little  station  is 
reached  which  marks  the  terminus  at  Le  Portel. 

34 


V      Boulogne^  Whnereux^  and  Le  Portel 

Down  the  street  with  its  rough  pavement  and  its 
trickling  drains  one  comes  across  the  quaintest  char- 
acters and  the  strangest  costumes  imaginable.  Peep- 
ing into  little  workshops  below  the  level  of  the  street 
one  sees  the  cobbler  mending  shoes,  the  smith  and  the 
carpenter  at  work  ;  in  others  men  are  making  nets  and 
sails.  The  baker,  too,  is  busy  with  his  cakes.  The  vil- 
lage school  and  the  church  are  passed,  and  then  down 
a  steeper  incline  we  come  suddenly  face  to  face  with 
the  rolling,  bowling  sea. 

The  day  we  were  there,  there  was  a  whole  gale 
blowing,  and  the  sea  was  bursting  into  glittering 
masses  of  spray  as  it  pounded  upon  the  rocks  and 
climbed  up  the  sides  of  the  Heurt  fort,  whose  ruins 
are  the  remains  of  another  piece  of  the  Emperor's 
handiwork. 

On  such  a  day  Le  Portel  is  seen  at  its  best.  The 
village  is  strongly  fortified  against  the  incursions  of  the 
sea.  The  walls,  reaching  from  the  beach  to  the  very 
tops  of  the  cliffs,  are  grey  in  colour,  and  suggest  a  sombre 
strength  that  is  quite  in  contrast  with  the  tiny  white- 
washed cottages  above. 

The  fishermen  have  about  forty  boats.  These  from 
a  scientific  point  of  view  are  utterly  stupid  in  construc- 
tion and  design,  yet  they  swear  by  them,  as  all  fisher- 
men do  by  the  type  of  boat  they  have  been  brought  up 
with  ;  during  the  summer,infine  weather,  they  ground 
them  upon  the  beach  in  front  of  the  village,  but  should 
bad  weather  be  threatening  they  haul  them  above  the 
reach  of  the  waves  and  place  them  in  the  bed  of  a  rivu- 

35 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seme  v 

let  which  runs  through  the  valley.  When  winter 
comes  they  make  use  of  Boulogne  harbour. 

A  walk  along  the  cliffs  to  see  the  lighthouse  upon 
Cape  I'Alprech  is  quite  worth  while.  There  is  a  little 
streamlet  crossing  the  footpath  ;  in  this  the  fishwives 
do  their  washing. 

At  a  quaint  little  cafe  upon  the  top  of  the  sea-wall 
we  had  tea,  which  was  served  by  a  vigorous  old  woman. 
When  the  bill  was  paid,  she  anxiously  held  out  her 
hand  and  said,  "  Pour  gar  go??''  Taken  literally,  this 
was  very  funny.  However,  I  pointed  to  the  table, 
where,  in  the  English  habit,  the  tip  for  the  waitress 
was  under  the  edge  of  the  saucer.  When  she  saw  it 
she  became  profuse  in  apologies  and  thanks. 

For  two  days  our  yacht  had  been  chafing  her  sides 
against  the  pilot  boat  on  to  whose  mooring  buoy  she 
hung.  We  were  beginning  to  feel  that  another  day 
spent  in  Boulogne  harbour  would  about  settle  both 
the  yacht  and  ourselves.  The  weather  looked  awful, 
and  we  heard  nothing  but  "  Plenty  vind  !  "  "  Plenty 
vind  !  " — nothing  but  "  Plenty  vind  !"  and  ^'^SMauvais 
tempsT 


36 


CHAPTER    VI 

Boulogne  to   Etaples 

We  were  making  ready  for  a  start,  when  our  friend  the 
assistant-pilot  looked  over  the  side  of  his  vessel  and  ex- 
cWimedy '''■  P^ous  partez  F  Non  ?  II  nest  pas  possible  pour 
Ktaf  !  Restez-vous  ici.  Perhaps  to-morrow  you  go. 
Too  much  plenty  vind  to-day." 

A  glance  at  the  wet  rats  of  fishermen  and  the  spray- 
soaked  sails  of  the  big  fishing-boat  that  was  seething 
along  towards  us  from  the  sea  was  not  an  encourag- 
ing thing.  Moreover  the  bulging  horizon  line,  seen 
between  the  jetties,  looked  nasty,  so  we  didn't  go  that 
day. 

We  should  not  have  gone  the  following  day  but  for 
the  kindly  pilot  arousing  us.  Our  alarm  clock  appar- 
ently did  not  relish  the  starting,  for  it  hadn't  gone  off. 
We  tumbled  down  in  hasty  anxiety  to  be  off,  for  time 
and  tide  wait  for  no  man,  and  the  tide  for  Etaples 
serves  but  an  hour,  so  shallow  is  the  channel.  One  of 
us  got  a  meal  ready  whilst  the  other  set  the  sails. 

After  clearing  the  jetties  and  the  outer  breakwater 
nothing  of  importance  happened,  unless  the  high  seas 
smashing  at  us  could  be  classed  as  happenings.  These 
were,  however,  too  frequent  to  bear  further  comment. 

37 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  vi 

And  though  the  head  wind  increased  to  the  extent  of 
our  having  to  get  down  a  second  reef,  the  big  swell 
which  rolled  in  from  the  Atlantic  grew  smaller. 

As  we  got  to  windward  of  the  Carnot  Breakwater,  tall 
columns  of  spray  were  climbing  up  its  sides  and  scatter- 
ing themselves  over  it.  The  boiling  breakers  upon  the 
rocks  off  Le  Portel  were  making  landwards  in  mighty 
masses  of  cream  foam.  Some  of  the  larger  fishing- 
boats  were  pitching  and  tossing  to  windward  of  us. 
Their  sails  were  sombre  brown  in  the  shadow  patches, 
where  the  sea  was  a  rich  blue,  but  they  blazed  gay  and 
ruddy  where  the  sun  fell  upon  them,  and  there  the  sea 
was  sparkling  green. 

How  brilliant  the  myriads  of  snow-white  patches 
were,  where  the  pointed  wave-crests  broke. 

What  an  interestingthing  it  is  to  watch  a  wave  come 
on  and  on,  rising  and  rising,  until  its  steep  crest  grows 
so  thin  that  the  light  of  day  is  seen  through  it.  On  it 
rushes  until  risen  so  high  that  its  back  tumbles  over, 
broken  in  a  roaring,  curdling,  fleecy  mass  of  white — a 
ton  or  so  of  sparkling  bubbles. 

The  steam-dredgers  were  busy  in  their  less  interest- 
ing way.  The  swirling  smoke  from  their  funnels,  and 
the  smell  from  the  engine-room  were  in  the  wind  as  we 
passed.  Rolling  exceedingly,  her  rusty  iron  sides  now 
buried  in  the  sea,  and  then  slowly  rising  high  above 
with  streams  of  frothy  water  draining  out  of  her  scup- 
per-holes, each  vessel  lazily  dragged  her  thick  trawling 
lines  through  the  glistening  water. 

Soon  these  were  left  behind,  and  rounding  Cape 

38 


^^^ 


-4 


wy* 


I 


'1' 


V 


J    ^ 


^ 


t; 


C) 


^ 


vi  Boulogne  to  Ktaples 

I'Alprech  we  had  a  low-lying  shore  fringed  with  sand 
dunes,  with  crumbly  hills  in  the  blue  distance  beyond 
and  flat  land  between,  across  which  the  steam  of  trains 
could  be  seen,  this  being  almost  the  only  sign  of 
humanity  in  the  wild  waste,  for  there  was  nothing  to 
be  seen  save  the  coastguards'  huts,  and  these  being  only 
three  in  number,  spaced  far  apart,  only  emphasised  the 
loneliness. 

From  seawards, when  a  mile  or  so  away, the  entrance 
to  a  river  upon  a  low-lying  coast  is  often  very  difficult 
to  find,  and  as  our  only  guides  as  to  our  progress  were 
these  huts,  we  kept  very  careful  count  of  them. 

Off  the  entrance  to  the  river  Canche  at  last,  we  had 
to  "  heave  to  "  abreast  of  Paris  Plage  to  await  the  rising 
of  the  water.  The  current  alongshore  ceasing  one 
hour  and  a  half  before  high  water,  made  it  necessary 
for  us  to  arrive  at  the  offing  an  hour  before  it  was  pos- 
sible to  enter. 

Paris  Plage,  when  it  wasn't  blotted  out  by  the  walls 
of  green  water,  looked  like  a  row  of  match-boxes,  and 
the  two  lighthouses  at  Le  Touquet  like  two  cigarettes 
on  end.  It  is  situated  on  the  south-west  bank  of  the 
Canche,  and  will  be  described  in  the  next  chapter.  We 
could  occasionally  see — in  the  distance  across  the  seas 
that  were  breaking  upon  the  bar — the  beacon  poles 
which  marked  the  channel  to  Etaples. 

Soon,  judging  we  had  enough  water,  we  sailed  to- 
wards these  white-crested  rollers.  The  sea  was  mixed 
with  churned-up  sand.  It  was  growing  shallow,  for 
here  at  low  water  the  tide  leaves  nothing  but  a  dribble 

39 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  vi 

upon  the  dry  sands.  Moving  at  the  rate  of  six  knots 
the  current  had  got  hold  of  us,  and  good  or  bad  we  had 
to  enter.  The  lead  was  kept  going,  from  two  and  a  half 
fathoms  to  one  and  a  half.  Then  my  friend  called 
"  One  fathom,"  and  though  we  were  in  the  hollow  of 
a  wave,  that  made  us  cringe.  Six  feet  of  water  and  we 
were  drawing  three  !     Again  "  One  fathom." 

I  turned  a  little  away  from  the  red  spindle  buoy  that 
marked  the  end  of  the  spit  of  sand  upon  which  the  sea 
was  breaking.  Pressed  over  upon  its  side  and  twisting 
at  its  moorings  the  buoy  was  battling  against  the  cur- 
rent. Then  we  found  a  fathom  and  a  quarter.  Here 
a  big  white  comber  came  rushing  after  us  and,  like 
a  parting  shot,  tried  to  climb  over  our  stern  ;  but 
rising  to  it  like  a  duck,  the  Mave  '^JRJioe  shook  herself 
free,  and  it  travelled  alongside,  carrying  us  with  it  into 
smooth  water. 

Watching  the  beacon  poles  and  the  distant  bank,  we 
were  travelling  at  the  rateof  abouttwelve  miles  anhour. 
Suddenly  when  near  Etaples  we  came  to  a  dead  stop, 
the  dinghy  overtook  us  and  banged  into  our  stern,  the 
tide  swirled  past  us,  and  we  were  aground  right  in  the 
centre  of  the  channel.  As  the  tide  rose  it  dragged 
us  with  it,  and  we  were  soon  moored  alongside  the 
quay.  We  exchanged  pleasantries  with  the  inevitable 
Douaniers^  who  told  us  that  no  other  English  yacht 
had,  in  their  time,  entered  there.  Indeed  the  almost 
savage  curiosity  we  aroused  would  point  to  this  same 
fa6t,  quite  as  much  as  the  Admiralty  sailing  directions 
do  to  the  dangers  of  attempting  the  entrance. 

40 


CHAPTER    VII 

Staples,  Paris  Plage,  and  Montreuil 

The  quaint  and  primitive  fishing  town  of  Etaples  is 
situated  upon  the  north-east  bank  of  the  river  Canche, 
its  grey  walls  and  red  roofs  rear  themselves  above  the 
long  stretching  sand  and  mud-flats  which  choke  the 
river  at  low  water.  The  Canche  winds  its  wayamongst 
these  flats  in  a  chaotic  series  of  trickles.  From  the  salt 
marshes  bordering  the  other  bank,  the  village  has  a 
most  picturesque  effect  with  its  fishing-boats  dried  out 
upon  the  sand  and  by  the  quay. 

Little  flicks  of  reflected  tiles  are  seen  playing  hide- 
and-seek  amongst  the  wriggle  of  rigging  mirrored 
across  the  wet  flats.  Walking  through  the  streets  you 
encountermanyartists,mostly  Americans  of  both  sexes, 
though  occasionally  a  real  bit  of  the  Quartier  Latin 
may  be  discovered  in  the  person  of  some  eccentrically 
clad  French  painter.  These,  however,  look  less  in- 
congruous than  the  more  rationally  garbed  Americans, 
for  eccentricity  of  costume  seems  to  be  cultivated 
amongst  the  inhabitants  of  Etaples. 

Strolling  along  we  came  across  a  house  with 
streamers  of  black  cloth  hanging  from  the  roof  to  the 
very  doorstep — the  insignia  of  the  hand  of  Death. 

41 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  vii 

When  we  arrived  at  the  church,  we  found  the  peasant 
mourners  Hngering  by  the  open  doorway. 

How  sombre  they  were  !  The  men  wore  the  most 
obsolete  silk  hats  I  have  ever  seen,  and  the  neckcloths 
tied  stiffly  into  a  bow  were  palpably  new  for  the  occa- 
sion. The  woman  of  the  party  wore  the  costume  of 
the  Boulogne  fishwife. 

They  waited  there — we  wondered  why — until  pre- 
sently the  priest  came  out  of  the  church,  then  they  all 
made  a  deep  curtsy  and  slowly  returned  homeward 
a  very  sad  party. 

We  entered  the  church,  and  coming  out  of  the 
brilliant  sunshine  we  could  see  nothing,  so  dark  was  it  ; 
but  presently  out  of  the  dimness  shapes  began  to  appear 
as  our  eyes  got  used  to  the  suppressed  light. 

There  is,  in  this  church,  a  curious  legend,  illustrated 
by  paintings.  The  text  tells  us  that  a  youth  of  Etaples, 
having  refused  the  amours  of  a  serving-maid,  brought 
upon  himself  by  his  virtue  the  drastic  revenge  of  the 
girl.  In  a  curious  rigmarole  we  were  told  that  the 
girl,  taking  advantage  of  a  robbery  which  had  taken 
place  about  the  time,  denounced  him  publicly  as  the 
thief,  whereupon  a  fowl  standing  near  lifted  up  its 
voice  and  exclaimed,  "  Liar  !  "  The  girl  then  angrily 
took  hold  of  the  cock  and  wrung  its  neck,  but  in  spite 
of  these  strange  happenings  the  youth  was  sentenced 
to  death.  The  parents  had  failed  to  get  a  pardon,  and 
upon  the  eve  of  the  hanging  of  their  son  the  family, 
with  several  condoling  friends,  sat  down  in  sadness  and 
despair  to  supper.    The  girl  placed  a  pie  upon  the  table, 

42 


vii      Ktaples^  Paris  Plage^  afid  Montreuil 

and  as  soon  as  the  crust  was  cut,  the  self-same  cock 
thrust  his  head  out  and  denounced  the  girl  as  the  actual 
thief,  and  told  the  story  of  the  serving-maid's  treachery. 
Thus  the  boy  was  saved  by  the  miracle  of  the  cock  of 
Etaples.  That  the  peasants  believe  this  story  is  no 
more  to  be  doubted  than  that  they  trust  in  the  patron- 
age of  the  particular  saint  after  whom  they  christen 
their  fishing-boats. 

Indeed,  the  church  of  Etaples  is  full  of  interest,  and 
largely  so  because  it  is  a  church  of  the  poor  peasantry. 

The  exterior  of  the  church  is  gnarled  and  moss- 
grown  ;  it  has  a  tower  with  a  slated  top.  It  appears  to 
be  built  of  brickwork,  which  shows  in  places  where 
the  whitewashed  plaster  has  fallen.  Architecturally,  I 
suppose,  it  is  horrible  ;  but  it  is  a  picturesque,  ramb- 
ling old  affair  which  artists  love  to  paint — it  is  a  study 
in  grey.  The  building  shows  a  severity  of  design  to 
which  the  little  touches  of  the  hand  of  Time  have  added 
beauty. 

There  is  a  duck  pond  near  it,  which  is  the  rendez- 
vous of  all  the  ducks  in  the  village.  You  will  see  little 
files  of  them  walking  through  the  streets  in  its  direftion 
from  the  other  end  of  the  village,  with  a  tremendous 
tenacity  of  purpose.  Afterwards,  having  had  their 
bath,  they  return  in  stately  single  file. 

This  pond  was  once  nearly  drained  dry  in  the  effort 
to  put  out  a  fire.  I  was  interested  to  learn  how  a  fire 
is  extinguished,  seeing  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as 
a  fire-engine  in  the  place.  It  seems  the  clang  of  the 
church  bell  brings  every  one  to  the  pond  with  a  bucket, 

43 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  vii 

for  in  France  everybody  may  be  compelled  by  law  to 
assist  in  putting  out  a  fire.  The  villagers  are  arranged 
in  two  rows  between  the  pond  and  the  scene  of  the 
blaze,  men  in  one  line  and  women  in  the  other.  Mid 
huge  excitement  the  buckets  are  filled  from  the  pond 
and  passed  along  the  row  of  men  from  hand  to  hand, 
and  the  contents  poured  upon  the  fire.  The  empty 
buckets  are  then  passed  back  in  the  same  manner  along 
the  row  of  women  until  they  are  returned  to  the  pond 
to  be  filled  again.  The  gendarme  excels  himself  as 
Field-Marshal  by  becoming  frantically  excited  and 
bullying  everybody  into  doing  the  work  ;  indeed,  I  am 
told  that  he  himself  makes  it  his  duty  to  do  little  but 
dance  about  like  a  cat  on  hot  bricks,  and  occasionally 
get  his  legs  mixed  up  with  his  sword. 

You  will  see  the  postman  in  a  long  blue  smock  de- 
livering letters,  with  a  bicycle  ;  and  with  a  drub-a-dub, 
drub-a-dub,  dub,  the  town-crier  will  be  heard  beating 
his  drum,  and  making  his  statement,  surrounded  by  a 
collection  of  children,  ducks,  and  dogs,  whilst  butcher 
and  baker,  cobbler  and  chemist,  stand  listening  by  their 
shop  doors.  Life  in  Etaples  is  like  playing  in  a  comic 
opera,  it  is  all  such  fun  and  yet  such  serious  business. 

With  a  toot,  toot,  toot,  the  tram  comes  every  half- 
hour,  grinding  out  of  an  alleyway  which  is  only  just 
wide  enough  to  allow  it  to  pass.  It  comes  from  the 
station  with  a  van  behind  it  piled  with  luggage,  and 
it  goes  to  Paris  Plage. 

We  stepped  aboard  this  primitive  affair,  and  were 
taken  across  the  Canche  along  the  first  real  French  look- 

44 


vii      Fjtaples^  Paris  Plage^  and  Montreuil 

ing  road  we  had  yet  seen — a  road  with  those  weird, 
evenly  spaced  trees  upon  each  side  of  it.  Then  a  short 
bend  in  the  tramway  hne  took  us  into  the  forest  of  Le 
Touquet. 

What  a  fairy  wood  it  was  !  What  play  of  light  and 
shade  !  The  tall  aspen  trees  with  their  fluttering  leaves 
made  mighty  hissing  sounds  like  broken  surf  upon  the 
seashore,  for  the  wind  was  high  when  we  were  there. 
We  are  told  the  Cross  of  Calvary  was  made  of  aspen- 
wood,  and  that  the  tree  shivers  perpetually  in  remem- 
brance. 

The  rolling  hills  and  dales  upon  which  the  forest 
is  rooted  were  carpeted  with  wild  flowers,  bluebells 
struggled  through  the  growth  of  fern,  and  wild  roses 
covered  the  brambles  like  little  pink-gowned  fairies 
asleep.  There  were  velvety  carpets  of  raw  green  grass, 
and  heather  patches,  white  and  lilac.  The  under- 
colour  of  the  little  trembling  leaves,  where  in  delicate 
tracery  they  cut  the  sky,  showed  a  warmer  and  more 
luminous  shade  of  green  than  those  in  England.  Upon 
the  tree  boles  the  salt  mist  had  been  unsparing  in  its 
sportive  detail,  and  curious  mottling  touches  ot  green 
and  grey  had  made  merry  masses  as  though  the  twisted 
trunks  and  branches  were  not  sufficiently  weird  and 
beautiful  in  themselves.  This  was  a  wood  to  dance 
in  ;  everything  suggested  the  lightly  tripping  toe,  for 
there  was  none  of  that  sombre  strength  of  the  oak  or 
that  massive  importance  of  the  beech.  It  had  a  sparkle 
with  it  and  a  delicacy  of  breath  that  suggested  a  sip  of 
sparkling  asti.     Squirrels  dart  about  the  boughs  from 

45 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  vii 

tree  to  tree,  and  rabbits  run  in  and  out  of  their  burrows 
amidst  the  exposed  roots. 

The  tram  noisily  rattled  along  past  branching  roads 
whose  straight  perspeftives  seemed  endless,  and  we 
were  whisked  past  many  chalets^  their  modern,  ugly 
eccentricity  of  style  happily  hidden  by  a  wealth  of  wild 
clematis  which  clung  to  their  walls.  Hammocks  slung 
from  trees  within  the  boundary  fence  contained  pretty 
women  in  fluffy  gowns  languidly  reading  the  little 
yellow-backed  novels,  as  with  Japanese  umbrellas  they 
shaded  themselves  from  the  mottle  of  sunshine  which 
straggled  through  the  tree-tops.  Merry  picnic  parties 
were  seen,  and  men  in  the  be-tasselled  costume  of  the 
French  sportsman  were  met  on  their  way  toor  from  the 
pigeon-shooting  establishment  near  the  dunes.  Sud- 
denly the  character  of  the  wood  changed,  for  near  Paris 
Plage  the  trees  are  twisted  pines.  These  were  planted 
on  the  dunes  in  1897  to  prevent  the  encroachment  of 
sand,  for  the  winter  gales  shift  the  hummocks  of  sand 
tremendously. 

Soon  we  alighted  at  Paris  Plage,  where  all  is  sand. 
The  houses  are  built  upon  it,  and  wisps  of  sand-reeds 
are  planted  at  intervals  in  lines  to  stop  the  sand  from 
blowing  away  and  undermining  their  foundations. 

The  visitors  at  Paris  Plage  are  mostly  English.  It 
has  excellent  accommodation  and  very  good  shops. 
The  hotels  are  quite  good  and  inexpensive.  It  has 
a  lively  casino,  and  the  golf  links  are  advertised  as 
being  the  finest  in  the  world.  It  is  a  grand  place 
for  motorists,  and  there  is  a  fine  track  where  motor 

46 


k..-^ 


^ 


vii      Etap/es^  Paris  Plage^  and  Mo7ttreuil 

races  are  held.  It  is  three  miles  and  a  half  from 
Etaples  station,  which  is  upon  the  main  line  from 
Calais  or  Boulogne  to  Paris. 

The  dunes  stretching  towards  Le  Touquet  Point 
are  very  inviting,  and  should  the  wind  blow  cold  the 
children  find  sheltered  spots  in  their  hollows  and 
play  the  whole  day  long.  From  the  tops  of  these 
there  is  a  fine  view  to  be  had  of  the  hills  beyond  the 
Camiers  lighthouse  across  the  estuary  of  the  Canche. 

At  Paris  Plage  you  are  not  pestered  with  hawkers, 
and  you  are  never  asked  to  "  come  for  a  sail."  It  is 
an  ideal  place  for  the  little  ones,  the  sands  being  safe 
and  clean,  and  small  pools,  where  toy  yachts  may  be 
sailed  and  shrimp  nets  used,  are  left  here  and  there 
by  the  tide  as  though  for  the  very  purpose. 

A  brilliant  sunset  gilded  the  tops  of  the  trees  as 
we  returned  through  the  forest  of  Staples,  where  the 
Mave  '^joe  had  been  well  looked  after  by  one  of 
the  fisher  lads.  We  found  the  yacht  still  the  centre 
of  attraction.  Crowds  sat  upon  the  quay  and  in  the 
surrounding  fishing-boats  ;  these  watched  our  every 
movement  with  greedy  interest. 

Whilst  making  the  sketch  of  Etaples  I  must  have 
caught  a  chill,  for  a  sudden  excruciating  pang  of 
toothache  attacked  me,  and  for  a  while  I  was  nearly 
driven  mad  with  it.  I  tried  to  find  a  dentist,  to 
replace  the  stopping  which  had  come  out  of  the 
offending  tooth,  but  there  was  not  such  a  person  in 
the  place  ;  and  the  doctor,  who  might  have  relieved 
the  pain,  was  not  at  home.     There  was  nothing  for 

47 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  vii 

it  but  to  try  a  little  dentistry  ourselves.  My  friend 
was  full  of  those  inane  recommendations  that  one's 
friends,  those  especially  who  have  a  quaint  sense  of 
humour,  indulge  in.  A  string  with  a  pig  of  ballast 
attached  to  it  seemed  most  attractive  to  him.  But 
that  was  not  the  kind  of  thing  that  appealed  to  me. 
What  I  ultimately  hit  upon  seemed  to  interest  our 
audience  immensely — the  stuffing  of  my  tooth  with 
cotton-wool. 

Montreuil-sur-mer  is  now  nine  miles  away  from 
the  sea.  It  is  but  a  six-mile  journey  by  the  railway 
from  Etaples.  Situated  upon  a  hill,  it  is  surrounded  by 
the  finest  of  French  rural  scenery,  well  sprinkled  with 
those  curious  trees  and  little  brooks  which  Mr.  Alfred 
East  loves  to  paint.  The  town  was  at  one  time  fortified, 
and  its  great  towering  walls  and  its  citadel  still  remain. 

Its  houses  tumble  over  and  lean  upon  one  another 
seemingly  as  though  struggling  each  to  maintain  its 
position  within  the  shelter  of  the  walls.  What 
would  happen  if  a  new  house  sprang  into  place  there 
Heaven  only  knows.  But  there  is  no  such  thing  as 
a  new  house  in  the  little  town.  Indeed  so  engrossed 
was  I  in  my  attempts  to  sketch  the  curious  beauty 
of  these  old  streets  that  time  flew  by  unnoticed,  and 
I  have  little  to  tell  you  about  the  place. 

You  will  remember  that  it  was  at  Montreuil  that 
Sterne  engaged  his  love-lorn  coachman,  and  scattered 
his  irresponsible  charity  to  the  poverty-stricken  crowd 
which  watched  his  departure. 

Sterne  was  always  more  interested  in  people  than 

48 


vii     Etaples^  Paris  Plage^  a?id  Montretiil 

in  places.  If  you  go  to  Montreuil,  you  will  find 
plenty  to  interest  you  in  both.  You  will  see  the 
Market  Place  crowded  with  country-folk,  if  it  be  the 
market-day.  You  will  notice  their  quaint  carts  and 
the  strange  trappings  of  their  fat  steeds.  You  will 
see  the  elaborate  brake  upon  each  of  the  waggons,  and 
note  the  necessity  of  its  use  if  you  see  one  of  these 
vehicles  leave  the  town  and  journey  homeward  down 
the  steep  hill. 

The  place  swarms  with  artists,  and  that  these  work 
with  easels  set  up  in  the  middle  of  the  streets  or  where 
they  will,  says  much  for  the  good  behaviour  of  the 
small  boys,  who  in  such  places  as  Rouen  are  absolute 
fiends. 

From  the  walls  fine  views  are  to  be  had  in  all  direc- 
tions. You  will  see  roads  stretching  to  the  dim  blue 
distance  across  the  unfenced  country  ;  these  are  only 
to  be  known  as  such  by  the  evenly  spread  trees  which 
border  them. 

One  and  a  half  miles  from  the  town,  at  the  village  of 
Neuville-sous-Montreuil,isthe Chartreuse  de  Neuville 
orde  Notre-Damedes  Pres.  The  convent  founded  here 
in  the  fourteenth  century  was  almost  destroyed  and  the 
remains  sold  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution.  It  was 
rebuilt  in  1 875,  but  the  exterior  only  is  to  be  seen,  for 
the  Association  Law  of  1901  emptied  it  and  visitors 
are  not  admitted. 

Once  more  aboard  the  train  upon  the  return  to 
Etaples.  We  were  followed  into  the  compartment  by 
an  English  clergyman  and  his  wife.     The  carriage  was 

49  » 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine         vii 

filled  to  overcrowding,  and  this  solitary  lady,  glancing 
nervously  round  at  the  other  passengers,  and  finally  at 
us,  exclaimed  aloud  in  English  to  her  husband,  "  What 
an  awful-looking  lot  of  men  !  "  She  was  very  surprised 
when,  a  little  later,  she  heard  us  speaking  in  English. 
Doubtless  our  rough  yachting  clothes  had  misled  her 
into  thinking  we  were  Frenchmen  of  a  nonetoo  savoury 
class.  The  bother  of  changing  from  "  comfy  "  jerseys 
into  conventional  shore  clothes  had  long  since  been 
voted  "  off,"  and  an  extended  cruise  aboard  a  four  ton- 
ner  is  not  conducive  to  that  spotlesswhite-duck  appear- 
ance that  is  associated  with  yachting. 

But  my  friendwould  soon  perforce  assume  thecollar- 
and-tie  respe6tability  which  the  ordinary  modes  of 
travelling  demand,  for  he  had  to  return  to  London 
upon  the  morrow  by  unromantic  train  and  steamer. 

Back  in  Etaples  we  dined  at  the  Hotel  Joos,  where 
we  admired  the  wall-panels  contributed  to  the  decora- 
tions of  the  hotel  by  its  many  artist  patrons. 

Over  the  vin  ordinaire  we  discussed  the  matter  of 
my  friend's  departure.  The  time  olmy  departure  was 
fixed  by  the  tide,  which  made  it  necessary  for  me 
to  leave  at  four  in  the  morning.  Yet  in  spite  of  his 
having  to  turn  out  so  early  my  friend  preferred  his 
bunk  aboard  the  Mave  Rhoe  to  a  bed  ashore. 


50 


CHAPTER    VIII 

Etaples  to  the  Somme 

Sunday^  July  2^th. — According  to  the  Admiralty  sail- 
ing directions  this  passage  was  to  be  the  most  dangerous 
in  the  whole  of  my  purposed  voyage. 

We  are  told  of  the  "  rapidity  with  which  the  sea 
gets  up,"  and  that  "  the  navigation  hereabouts  is  ex- 
tremely dangerous,  as  the  low-lying  land  is  bad  to  see, 
especially  in  rainy  weather."  There  is  no  shelter  what- 
ever between  the  two  places. 

My  ship  could  with  a  head  wind  only  just  perform 
the  distance  in  time  to  catch  the  tide  up  the  estuary 
of  the  Somme.  Should  she  fail  to  do  this,  the  seven- 
knot  tide  running  out  of  this  estuary  would  be  difficult 
if  not  quite  impossible  to  sail  over.  There  were  the 
dangers,  too,  of  drying  out  upon  the  sandbanks  with 
the  roll  of  a  big  Atlantic  swell  bursting  upon  them  at 
the  incoming  of  the  following  tide.  These  banks,  my 
chart  told  me,  become  dry  at  low  water  for  a  distance 
of  a  mile  or  more  out  to  sea. 

I  have  seldom  felt  nervous  whilst  sailing,  and  the 
apprehension  I  may  have  felt  was  never  caused  by  the 
then  existing  state  of  things,  but  by  the  contemplation 
of  what  might  be  yet  to  come.     I  am  nearly  always 

51 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine         viii 

filled  with  stage  fright  before  a  voyage.  I  was  op- 
pressed with  it  now.  Happily  this  vanishes  once  the 
start  is  made. 

The  sun  had  risen  with  pink  streaks  at  the  edges  of 
blue-grey  clouds.  The  wind,  such  as  there  was,  blew 
from  the  most  favourable  quarter  for  the  work,  and  an 
hour  later  the  weather  looked  perfe6l — but  that  dawn 
haunted  me. 

I  kept  the  reefs  that  were  still  left  in  the  sail,  and 
bidding  adieu  to  my  friend,  who  looked  with  sad  long- 
ing at  the  boat  as  he  cast  off  my  ropes,  I  set  off  alone. 
The  tide  took  me  rapidly  towardsthe  bar  six  miles  away 
upon  which  the  white  surf  could  be  seen  breaking. 

Before  I  got  to  it  the  wind  had  shifted  and 
strengthened.  Once  across  the  bar  and  out  in  the 
open  it  settled  down  to  a  strong  breeze,  a  dead  nose- 
ender.     Gone  were  the  favourable  circumstances. 

I  then  had  a  struggle  against  wind  and  tide  for  four 
hours,  doing  about  three  miles,  for,  it  must  be  remem- 
bered, the  tide  outside  runs  in  the  direction  of  Boulogne 
from  an  hour  and  a  half  before  to  four  hours  and  three- 
quarters  after  high  water.  Soon  after  I  had  done  with 
this  slow  progress  and  the  tide  was  fairly  with  me,  I 
had  to  "  heave  to  "  to  bail  out  the  dinghy,  which  was 
nearly  full  ;  and,  a  little  later,  I  had  to  reduce  the 
canvas  still  further,  by  which  time  I  was,  in  spite  of 
my  oilskins,  wet  through. 

I  repeatedly  bailed  the  wretched  dinghy,  whilst  the 
yacht  staggered  on,  sailing  by  herself.  Five  long, 
weary,  ice-cold  hours  had  been  added,  during  which 

52 


0 

viii  Ejtaples  to  the  Somme 

I  saw  nothing  but  leaden  sea  and  murky  sky.  No  craft 
of  any  kind  was  to  be  seen,  not  even  a  sea-bird  to  re- 
lieve this  horrible  monotony.  Rain  fell  in  stinging 
torrents  every  now  and  then,  blotting  out  all  save  the 
immediate  waves  and  the  distant  patches  of  white, 
where  seas  breaking  into  foam  oozed  through  the 
sodden  greyness. 

Another  hour  and  I  should  surely  be  off  the  entrance 
of  the  Somme  ! 

I  decided  to  get  a  sight  of  the  land,  and  turned  shore- 
wards.  Presently  the  low-lying  sand-dunes  hove  up 
hazy  and  utterly  desolate. 

There  was  no  sign  of  the  estuary.  Had  I  over- 
shot it  .?  No,  for  beyond  it  the  sailing  directions  said 
the  coast  was  shingle,  and  there  was  no  shingle  here. 
I  worked  along  the  shore  in  shallow  water,  for  the  tide, 
which  had  now  set  against  me,  was  slackest  there.  A 
slow  business. 

Weary  tack  after  weary  tack,  and  little  progress 
seemed  to  be  made,  until  a  line  of  surf  ahead  indicated 
one  of  the  banks  of  the  Somme. 

The  rain  had  stopped,  but  the  wind  had  strengthened, 
and  with  far  too  much  canvas  up  aloft  I  staggered  along, 
lying  over  at  an  alarming  angle. 

Holding  on  towards  the  bank,  I  must  have  picked 
up  the  back-eddy  I  had  hoped  to  find  along  its  edge, 
for  the  boat  was  now  making  good  headway.  Soon 
I  came  to  the  end  of  this  spit,  and  then  I  saw  the  Somme 
tide  rushing  out  of  the  estuary.  I  had  given  up  all 
hope  of  sailing  over  this,  so  I  brought  it  upon  my  lee 

53 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine         viii 

bow  expecting  it  to  set  me  over  to  the  white  cliffs  of 
Treport,  which  I  could  just  see  farther  down  the  coast. 
Indeed  it  was  pressing  me,  almost  broadside-on,  in  their 
direction.  Then  a  rain  squall  blotted  out  everything 
and  was  kettle-drumming  upon  my  sails. 

To  keep  going  like  this  was  the  best  thing  to  be 
done,  for  a  tide  on  the  lee  bow  makes  for  progress  some- 
where. 

Presently  I  caught  sight  of  a  black  buoy.  The 
French  have  a  universal  system  of  buoyage,  the  ele- 
ments of  which  are  that  channels  are  buoyed  with 
black  buoys  on  the  left  hand  and  red  ones  on  the  right 
from  the  entrance.  Here,  then,  was  one  of  the  Somme 
channels  (for  my  chart  and  directions  said  there  were 
three,  though  I  ultimately  found  only  one,  and  this  was 
it).  The  mouth  of  the  estuary  is  six  miles  wide  and 
the  channel  under  one. 

"  Entrez,  Monsieur^''  the  buoy  seemed  to  say.  "  I'll 
have  a  shot  at  it,"  said  I  to  myself.  The  sheets 
whistled  out  and  the  sails  made  a  greater  curve.  Water 
thrashed  along  the  deck  three  and  sometimes  six  inches 
deep,  squirting  up  like  a  fountain  where  it  was  torn 
by  the  shroud. 

The  dinghy  charged  each  sea  and  sometimes  jumped 
bodily  off  the  crest  of  one  wave  into  the  hollow  of  the 
next.  (If  she  filled  she  would  have  to  be  cut  adrift.) 
Squirt,  and  thrash,  and  plunge,  and  hiss,  on  we  flew, 
through  the  rush  of  the  tide,  for  the  wind  on  the  beam 
is  the  fastest  point  of  sailing. 

Our  speed  through  the  water  was  all  right,  but 

54 


Chi.'^.  Fcar^.  '909 


Houses,  S/.    V'luci y-itir-SoiiiiJi(- 


viii  Rtaples  to  the  Somme 

what  of  the  pace  over  the  ground  ?  A  glance  at  the 
shore  would  give  some  idea.  We  were  passing  it  at 
about  two  miles  per  hour  (which  meant  nine  miles 
through  the  water).  This  was  terrific,  and  if  we  didn't 
capsize,  we  should  get  at  least  to  Hourdel ;  but  when 
abreast  of  this  place,  as  there  seemed  water  enough 
to  justify  trying  to  get  to  St.  Valery,  I  held  on. 

The  heavy  rain  was  now  a  mere  drizzle.  The 
sun  would  soon  be  setting,  for  its  red  fire  was  shining 
through  the  tips  of  the  small  waves  astern  and  was 
flicking  delicate  rings  of  iridescent  tints  through  the 
soft  splatter  of  spray  the  yacht  was  throwing  off  her 
bows.  What  a  difference  a  gleam  of  sunshine  makes. 
How  beautiful  this  was  ! 

The  water  was  gradually  becoming  calmer  and 
sandier  in  colour.  I  took  several  soundings,  all  five 
feet.  I  still  held  on,  however,  until  I  had  only  four 
feet  ;  then  I  turned  off  a  little  and  found  again  five 
feet,  then  four  again,  and  soon  after,  the  yacht's 
keel  scraped  upon  the  sand  and  she  was  hard  on. 
The  tide  rushed  past,  scooping  up  the  sand  all  around. 
The  boat  lay  over  on  her  side  away  from  the  current, 
and  the  water  sank  lower  and  lower  until  it  became 
about  a  foot  in  depth. 

Then  a  most  curious  thing  happened  (I  am  told 
it  always  does  in  the  Somme),  the  boat  slowly  came 
over  upon  her  other  side  and  finally  rested  so. 

The  sun  was  like  a  disk  of  molten  metal  resting 
on  the  very  tip  of  the  horizon.  To  the  eastward 
over  the  wide  estuary — which,  save  for  the  driblet 

55 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine        viii 

passing  under  the  yacht  was  now  all  dry  sand — a 
huge  double  rainbow  spread  its  gorgeous  circles.  I 
have  never  seen  so  perfect  an  efFe6t,  and  as  I  un- 
buttoned my  dripping  oilskin  and  dragged  it  off  my 
sopping  jersey,  I  thought  of  the  poetic  side  and 
wondered  whether  there  was  anything  more  in  this 
message  from  the  sky. 

I  had  sailed  sixteen  hours — wet  through  most  of 
the  time,  and  without  a  bite  of  anything  to  eat — I 
had  got  to  within  three-quarters  of  a  mile  of  St. 
Valery,  whose  lights  were  now  twinkling  through 
the  glowing  twilight,  and  I  felt  proud  of  my  ship 
and  glad  to  think  that  human  error  had  not  wrecked 
her. 


56 


CHAPTER    IX 

St.  Valery-sur-Somme  and  Abbeville 

The  boat  lay  over  at  an  angle  of  twenty-five  degrees, 
and  my  cot  being  at  the  upper  side,  I  had  to  make 
up  a  bed  upon  the  opposite  bunk.  This  done  I  set 
the  alarm  for  4.30  a.m.  and  went  off  to  sleep.  She 
was  afloat  when  I  awoke.  The  wind  had  gone  and 
the  rain  had  given  place  to  glorious  sunshine.  I 
hoisted  the  dripping  sails,  and  with  hardly  any  wind 
I  got  to  St.  Valery. 

What  a  charming  little  place  it  seemed  as  I  drifted 
up  the  narrow  channel.  Along  the  sea-front  hundreds 
of  fishing-boats  were  moored  in  single  file. 

This  sea-front  is  prote6ted  by  a  bank  of  flint 
pebbles,  kept  in  place  by  rows  of  stakes  interlaced 
with  wicker-work  ;  the  alternate  strips  of  this  and  of 
the  lilac-coloured  pebbles  form  parallel  lines  along 
the  bank,  which  have  a  curious  effeft.  This  is  an 
excellent  protediion  and  one  which  is  also  neat  and 
very  clean.  The  town  is  well  wooded  ;  trees  spread 
themselves  from  the  high  ground  down  almost  to 
the  water's  edge. 

I  anchored  just  at  the  mouth  of  the  port,  where 
there  was  plenty  of  water  even  at  low  tide,  although 
the  sea  recedes  as  much  as  nine  miles  from  St.  Valery. 

57 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  ix 

What  a  delight  it  was  after  twenty-six  hours  of  the 
boat  to  stretch  my  legs  ashore — to  have  breakfast  at 
the  little  cafe.  How  lovely  the  bowl  of  cafe  au  lait^ 
the  pale  green  duck  eggs,  the  fresh  rolls  and  butter,  and 
the  little  saucer  of  salad.  The  shutters  of  the  little 
shops  were  being  taken  down  as  I  strolled  through  the 
town,  and  I  was  soon  buying  stores — those  delightful 


The  Quay,  St.  Valery-sur-Somme 

preparations  of  the  Maison  Felix  Potin.  He  who 
knows  not  the  name  of  Felix  Potin  knows  not  France  ; 
it  is  everywhere,  upon  the  hoardings  and  in  the  shops. 

Tempting  fruit — peaches  surely  grown  by  goblin 
market-men,  sedu6tivecherries,  pearsand  melons  which 
bid  one  buy. 

The  little  town  is  divided  into  three  parts.  La  Ferte, 
or  the  lower  portion  ;  the  Courgain,  or  fishermen's 
quarter;  and  La  Ville  Haute,  which  is  the  St.  Valery 

58 


ix       St.  Valery-sur-Somme  a7id  Abbeville 

of  old.  This  upper  town  has  two  of  its  old  gates  still 
remaining — the  Porte  de  Nevers  and  the  Porte  d'Eu — 
and  it  has  a  very  mediaeval  appearance.  The  church  of 
St.  Martin  is  fifteenth  century.  Built  upon  its  unused 
remains  and  clinging  to  its  sides  is  a  cottage.  From 
a  low  wall  close  by  this  cottage  there  is  to  be  had  a  fine 
view  of  the  Somme  estuary  and  the  sea  away  in  the  dis- 
tance. 

What  quaint  little  ins-and-outsofgrass-grown  streets 
there  are  in  this  higher  town  !  What  delightful  hill- 
and-dale  perspectives,  tiled  roofs,  red,  where  the  moss 
is  not.  Grey  tones  of  painted  shutters  and  walls  of 
lavender,  through  which,  here  and  there,  brickwork 
shows  as  though  resenting  the  limewash  and  pitch, 
whereby  the  spread  of  dampness  in  the  lower  part  is 
prevented.  Peeping  through  the  massive  doors  of  the 
better-class  houses,  a  delightful  freshness  comes  from 
the  be-flowered  courtyards.  Glancing  through  these 
seldom  to  be  found  open  doorways  is  like  stealing  a 
peep  into  the  heart  of  the  family  ;  the  sight  at  once 
breaks  down  that  feeling  of  standoffish  reserve  which 
the  exterior  conveys.  For,  unlike  the  entrance  of  an 
English  home,  the  double  door  of  the  French  one  has 
no  welcome  and  the  shutters  of  the  window  seem  to  cry 
"  Be  off! "  I  wandered  through  this  part  of  the  town 
until  I  came  to  a  rather  large  hospital.  The  sight  of 
it  reminded  me  that  I  had  still  asevere  toothache,  which 
had  been  almost  forgotten  in  the  interesting  explora- 
tions of  the  town.  I  made  inquiries  for  a  dentist,  but 
was  informed  there  was  no  dentist  nearer  than  Abbe- 

59 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  ix 

ville.  Sketching  was  misery,  for  then  the  pain  was  vile, 
but  I  determined  not  to  waste  the  light  of  day  chasing 
after  dentists. 

However,  towards  evening  I  could  bear  it  no  longer, 
so  I  set  off  for  Abbeville,  having  spent  the  day  in  vain 
attempts  at  work. 

There  are  two  stations  at  St.  Valery  ;  one  is  a  very 
small  affair  upon  the  line  toCayeux.  The  stationmaster 
was  a  shrill-voiced  female,  wearing  the  railway  official 
badge  upon  her  arm.  She  seemed  somewhat  to  resent 
being  disturbed  from  her  wash-tub,  for  with  crinkled 
and  soapy  fingers  she  handed  me  my  ticket  with  as 
much  haste  as  her  answers  to  my  inquiries  were  surly ; 
but  when  I  gave  one  of  her  little  ones  a  penny  she  was 
a  changed  woman.  I  felt  she  was  my  friend  for  life  ; 
she  then  quite  courteously  answered  my  questions,  but 
I  could  not  understand  her  in  the  slightest,  and  nothing 
would  induce  her  to  talk  slowly  and  drop  the  railway 
porter's  slur  of  words.  However,  I  gathered  that  I  had 
some  while  to  wait ;  so  sitting  upon  the  edge  of  the  low 
grass-grown  platform,  with  my  feet  upon  the  nearest 
rail  (there  were  no  seats),  I  was  presently  the  centre  of 
attraction  to  a  crowd  of  cocks  and  hens,  ducks  and 
geese.  I  could  understand  their  language  anyway.  In- 
deed, one  of  the  lady-birds  proudly  cackled  the  fa6l  that 
there  was  a  new-laid  tgg  somewhere  in  the  station- 
yard.  There  was  a  doubtful  duck — it  might  have  been 
a  drake — in  fact,  I  think  it  was,  for  it  lookedat  me  with 
that  knowing  glance  which  is  often  to  be  found  upon 
the  face  of  some  city  stockbroker.     He  came  very  near 

60 


ix       A?/.  Valery-sur-Somme  and  Abbeville 

me.  I  wondered  whether  he  knew  I  had  a  biscuit  in  my 
pocket.  Anyhow  he  got  it,  andatoncebecame  the  head 
of  a  procession,  for  off  he  went  followed  by  all  the  other 
birds,  and  I  was  left  alone.  Presently,  in  partiesof  threes 
and  fours,  came  other  passengers,  mostly  Americans, 
and  doing  as  I  had  done  they  sat  upon  the  platform.  I 
should  not  like  to  say  how  many  languages  were  being 
spoken  along  the  edge  of  that  platform  for  I  might 
be  wrong,  but  I  should  say  quite  half  the  countries  of 
Europe  and  several  of  the  States  of  America  were  re- 
presented. 

Presently,  with  much  grinding,  spluttering,  and  a 
totally  unnecessary  amount  of  whistling,  the  train — 
an  antiquated  affair — came  slowly  round  the  curve 
and  into  the  station.  Then  with  a  prolonged  whistle 
it  set  off  across  the  canal  and  towards  the  viaduct 
that  spans  the  estuary.  Whilst  the  afterglow  lasted 
there  was  a  feast  of  colour,  the  narrow  dribbles  upon 
the  flat  sand  reflecting  the  red  glow  of  the  sky  ;  the 
long  stretches  of  nets  held  up  by  poles  to  trap  the 
fish  as  the  tide  receded  ;  the  goatherd  hurrying 
across  the  wide  expanse  of  sands,  followed  by  his 
herd  of  shaggy  goats,  bound  for  one  of  the  salterns 
where  they  graze.  The  meadows  and  the  marshes — 
what  interesting  sights  these  were,  how  many  subjefts 
for  future  canvases  !  Then  the  train  entered  woods 
of  poplar  and  the  light  faded.  Soon  the  little  train 
arrived  at  Noyelles,  its  terminus,  and  I  boarded  the 
Paris  train  and  was  quickly  in  Abbeville.  I  was 
charged  extra  for  taking  the   Paris  train,  my  ticket 


6i 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  ix 

only  permitting  me  to  travel  by  a  local  train  ;  how- 
ever it  was  a  trifle.  My  first  question  was  "  Where 
is  there  a  dentist  ?  "  Much  sympathy  was  expressed 
before  I  was  dire6led  to  the  nearest  of  that  ilk.  I 
was  to  cross  the  iron  bridge  over  the  canal,  &c.  &c. 
I  was  half-way  over  this  bridge,  when  I  stopped 
short,  for  there  was  a  pidture — a  weird  view  of  sombre 
still  water  reflefting  gloomy  trees,  a  mysterious  bank 
upon  either  hand,  and  a  few  gas-lights.  I  must  paint 
it  !  but  I  had  no  paints  with  me.  However,  I  made 
a  few  lines  and  several  notes,  which  resulted  in  the 
accompanying  drawing.  It  will  express  my  vision 
of  the  Stygian  Somme  Canal  better  than  I  can  de- 
scribe the  unconventional  scene.  Looking  into 
the  water  below  it  seemed  as  deep  as  the  sky  is 
high. 

But  the  dentist  !  He  was  not  at  home.  "  Monsieur 
might  find  one  in  the  Rue  So-and-so  "  (which  was  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  away).  Peeping  through  a  narrow 
street  I  saw  the  encrusted  mass  of  the  church  of  St. 
Vulfran.  Illuminated  by  the  glow  from  the  hidden 
square  below  it  towered  above  the  house-tops  away 
into  the  starlit  sky.  I  must  needs  make  a  note  of 
that,  and  by  the  time  the  sketch  was  finished  I  had 
forgotten  my  diredtions.  There  were  few  people 
about  and  the  shops  were  mostly  closed.  I  entered 
the  square  near  the  foot  of  the  two  towers  of  the 
church,  and  gazing  at  the  beautiful  building,  perfect 
in  this  mysterious  illumination,  a  young  priest — a 
pleasant  fellow — came  out  of  the  shadow  of  one  of 

62 


ix      St,  Valery-sur-Somme  and  Abbeville 

the  three  huge  portals.  I  accosted  him,  but  he  could 
not  understand  what  I  said,  for  I  accidentally  pro- 
nounced the  word  "  de?Jtiste  "  in  the  slightly  different 
English  way.  I  tried  again,  and  this  time  he  saw 
the  light  so  to  speak.  "  Venez,  Monsieur^'  he  said, 
and  he  led  me  down  a  dark  street  for  some  consider- 
able distance,  until  he  paused  in  front  of  a  door  and 
exclaimed,  "  Voila^  Monsieur!  "  I  thanked  him,  and 
with  a  "  Bon  soir.  Monsieur,''  he  returned  solemnly 
through  the  shadowy  perspective,  whilst  I  rang  and 
rang  again,  but  had  no  response.  Presently  a  young 
man  approached  down  the  street,  and  opening  the 
door  informed  me  that  "  Monsieur  le  dentiste "  was 
not  "^  la  maison^  He  recommended  another  who 
also  was  not  at  home.  I  then  inquired  of  a  chemist 
for  another  ;  his  wife  seemed  much  amused,  for  she 
laughed  until  the  decorations  upon  her  "  little  bit  of 
Paris  "  blouse  shook  again.  If  she  hadn't  been  so 
distinctly  pretty,  I  should  have  voted  her  a  cat.  I 
had  supplemented  my  scanty  vocabulary  with  one  or 
two  English  words,  one  of  which  began  with  a  "  D," 
and  is  usually  printed  with  a  dash.  I  asked  her  why 
she  laughed,  and  she  replied,  "  I  haird  you  spik  ze 
Ainglish  damm."  This  was  coquetry  in  a  chemist's 
wife,  and  I  felt  safer  (.?)  when  I  made  my  exit,  with 
a  card  of  introduction  to  the  only  remaining  dentist 
in  the  town.  It  was  growing  late,  and  in  a  French 
provincial  town  away  from  the  cafes,  ten  o'clock 
seems  much  past  midnight.  As  I  left  the  still  lively 
square,  where  is  the  beautiful  monument  to  Admiral 

63 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  ix 

Courbet,  it  seemed  quite  oppressively  late,  so  "  settled 
for  the  night  "  was  the  aspeft.  I  wandered  through 
innumerable  streets,  taking  several  wrong  turnings, 
but  eventually  I  found  myself  at  the  right  door.  I 
pulled  the  bell  with  some  violence,  and  presently 
the  head  of  a  fat  woman  in  a  dressing-gown  was 
shoved  out  of  one  of  the  upper  windows.  "  Mon- 
sieur le  dentiste  est-il  a  la  mat  son,  si  vous  plait, 
Madame  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Je  descends  "  was  the  re- 
sponse, and  in  a  short  while  the  little  port-hole 
in  the  door  was  cautiously  opened,  and  the  old 
lady's  face  appeared  behind  the  bars.  A  quaint 
conversation  took  place,  which  commenced  with 
much  sympathy  from  the  lady,  but  concluded  with 
the  announcement  that  the  dentist  was  never  there 
after  6  p.m. 

What  I  said  inwardly  about  France,  Abbeville, 
dentists,  toothache,  and  the  French  language  my 
publishers  would  not  print. 

I  set  off  towards  the  station,  but  attraded  by  the 
picture  post-cards  displayed  in  the  shop  window  of  a 
tobacconist,  I  entered  and  then  asked  what  time  the 
next  train  left.  Much  thumbing  of  a  time-table  only 
elicited  the  fact  ^''  ISJ'est  pas  correspotidance.'^ 

No  train  for  St.  Valery  until  morning  !  What  about 
the  yacht  }  Well,  she  would  have  to  take  care  of  her- 
self. I  was  recommended  to  the  Hotel  des  Anglais 
close  by.  It  had  a  very  inviting  appearance,  but  was 
full  up.  I  tried  several  other  hotels,  but  all  were  full, 
and  with  a  now  positively  raging  toothache  I  con- 

64 


S/,   Vuljran,  Abbeville 


ix      aSV.  V alery-sur-Somme  and  Abbeville 

sidered  myself  the  luckiest  person  alive  to  be  permitted 
to  share  a  double-bedded  room  at  a  small  cafe  near  the 
river.  I  was  handed  a  form  to  fill  up,  which  struck  me 
as  showing  quite  a  comic-opera  humour  in  its  deadly- 
seriousness.  I  am  told  it  is  not  at  all  an  uncommon 
occurrence  in  France  to  have  this  duty  to  perform. 

I  asked  to  be  called  at  six  in  the  morning,  and  half- 
an-hour  after  that  time  I  wasadmitted  into  the  presence 
of  the  nearest  dentist.  This  person  proved  to  be  a  very 
stout  old  lady,  who  at  once  set  about  the  tooth.  Re- 
moving the  stopping  in  a  business-like  way,  she  pro- 
ceeded to  kill  the  nerve.  During  the  operation  her 
daughter,  trh-belle^  entered  in  her  dressing-gown,  and 
talked  to  me  whilst  the  work  proceeded.  I  think  the 
trh-belle  daughter  an  excellent  idea,  and  cordially  re- 
commend it  to  dentists  in  England.  I  was  charged 
only  twoyr^;?fj-,  which  I  also  appreciated,  though  I  fear 
the  recommending  of  that  would  be  useless.  I  had 
no  more  toothache. 

The  beautiful  old  town  of  Abbeville,  with  its  river 
Somme  and  its  rapid  running  mill-streams,  which  are 
banked  up  by  its  moss-grown  houses,  is  noted  for  the 
making  of  cloth.  It  has  over  20,000  inhabitants,  and 
is  of  some  importance  still.  Especially  proud  are  its 
people  that  it  is  a  seaport,  and  indeed  three-masted 
schooners  may  be  found  here,  which  have  laboriously 
worked  their  way  from  the  sea  via  St.  Valery  and  the 
Somme  Canal.  Doubtless  it  may  have  shone  in  the  past 
as  a  port,  but  the  past  has  spread  a  glamour  over  Abbe- 
ville, which,  with  small  thanks  to  its  harbour,  made  it 

65  E 


From  the  'Thames  to  the  Seine  ix 

loom  big  in  the  history,  not  only  of  France,  but  the 
whole  world. 

From  being  a  mere  farm,  belonging  to  the  great 
Abbey  of  St.  Riguer,  it  grew  and  grew  until  Hugh 
Capet  blessed  it  with  a  girdle  of  ramparts,  and  the 
leaders  of  the  first  two  Crusades  made  it  their  meeting- 
place.  As  the  capital  of  Ponthieu,  it  was  given  the 
title  of  Abbeville  lajidele. 

Being  part  of  the  dowry  of  the  bride  of  Edward  I, 
Elinor  of  Castile,  it  passed,  in  1272,  into  the  hands  of 
the  English,  who  held  it  with  trifling  interruptions 
for  two  hundred  years.  The  marriage  of  Mary  of 
England  to  Louis  XII  was  celebrated  here  at  the 
church  of  St.  Vulfran. 

Thus  the  pageant  of  its  history  passes  by  until  1 527, 
when  Wolsey  and  Fran9ois  I  put  their  heads  to- 
gether and  signed  their  alliance  against  Charles  V. 

This  reminds  us  of  No.  29  Rue  de  la  Tannerie, 
which  is  the  present  address  of  the  shade  of  Fran9ois — 
La  Maison  de  Fran9ois  I !  He  inhabited  it  in  1527, 
and  it  looks  like  it.  It  is  a  charming  old  timber  house 
(there  are  many  in  Abbeville),  and  is  said  to  be  one  of 
the  finest  specimens  in  France.  The  pen-drawing  here 
given  will  convey  some  slight  notion  of  its  crumbling 
grace,  but  the  delicate  tracery  of  the  carving,  especi- 
ally of  the  little  door  with  its  age  stains  and  bloom  of 
colour,  would  take  many  more  hours  of  hard  work  to 
portray  than  these  modern  days  of  haste  would  permit 
to  be  spent  upon  the  drawing  of  a  mere  door.  Per- 
sonally, though,  I  would  rather  paint  a  portrait  of  that 

66 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  ix 

door  than  one  of  the  many  rather  uninteresting  persons 
to  be  found  in  paint  upon  the  walls  of  our  art  galleries. 
It  would  be  like  painting  an  old,  old  man  of  many  lives, 
who  had  a  fund  of  stories  all  about  the  by-paths  of 
history. 

Here  one  finds  a  vine  pi6turesquely  twining  its  way 
across  the  building  ;  doubtless  it  obscures  some  of  the 
carving,  but  how  beautiful  it  is.  Some  there  are  who 
would  quickly  have  it  down,  and  thereby  rob  the  old 
house  of  those  mysterious  little  spots  of  shadow,  and 
those  little  flecks  of  light  which  let  the  imagination 
see  as  well  as  the  eyes.  But  one  is  always  impressed 
by  the  good  taste  of  the  French  in  these  matters  ;  they 
just  know  how  to  let  nature  caress  the  hand  of  man. 
That  vine  shows  no  sign  of  being  planted — it  is  just 
there^  just  where  it  is  wanted,  laughing  at  the  axe  of 
the  restorer.  I  am  told  one  can  seldom  go  there  and 
not  find  an  artist  sketching,  and  truly  the  old  gentle- 
man whom  I  saw  there  seemed  to  be  enjoying  his  work 
with  that  intensity  which  follows  upon  the  discovery 
of  a  fine  subject. 

One  could  yarn  about  the  history  of  Abbeville  and 

the  surrounding  country,  but  need  one  say  more  }     It 

were  but  to  drag  you  along  pages  of  printed  matter, 

though  I  must  tell  you  that  the  stone  windmill  upon 

the  summit  of  which  Edward  III  stood  and  watched 

the  Battle  of  Crecy  still  exists,  and  it  is  not  so  far  away 

from  Abbeville  that  one  would  not  wish  to  journey 

there. 

Relu6lantly  we  must  bid  adieu  to  Abbeville,  for  the 

68 


'1  -: 

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O      • 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Sei7ie  ix 

yacht  Mave  '^BJjoe  has  lain  untended  upon  one  anchor 
at  the  mouth  of  the  port  of  St.  Valery  since  seven 
P.M.  of  yesterday.  In  spite  of  the  honesty  of  the 
French,  which  is  remarkable,  I  began  to  be  anxious 
about  her. 

Threading  my  way  through  the  crowds  of  country 
folk,  for  apparently  it  was  market-day,  I  hurried  to  the 
station,  meeting  all  sorts  of  quaint  people  on  the  way. 
Fat  farmers  and  their  plump  cattle,  drovers,  horse 
dealers,  butchers  and  pig  dealers,  millers  and  dairy- 
maids. The  farmers  wore  curious  black  smocks,  as 
did  the  drovers  who  belaboured  their  bullocks  with 
long  sticks.  Strange  carts  trundled  through  the  streets, 
and  altogether  my  walk  to  the  station  was  full  of 
interest. 

Aboard  the  train  I  was  whisked  through  lovely  rural 
scenes,  past  old  mills  and  farmsteads  screened  by  cur- 
tains of  those  curious  trees  that  are  to  be  found  here- 
abouts, until  Noyelles  was  reached.  There  I  had  some 
time  to  wait.  In  a  strange  country  waiting  does  not 
irritate  one,  and  even  the  grass-grown  railway  lines 
curving  into  the  woodland  distance,  and  the  great, 
strange-looking  engine  of  the  express  that  rushed  by, 
provided  entertainment.  The  woodman's  carts,  with 
their  large  wheels  and  levers  for  lifting  the  logs  of  tim- 
ber, and  their  rusty  chains  for  fixing  these ;  their  horses 
with  quaint  harness  bedizened  with  large  tassels  and 
huge  brass  bells  ;  the  blue  blouses  and  the  bulgy  pale 
fawn  corduroy  trousers  of  the  woodmen,  the  unceasing 
crack  of  fanciful  whips,  the  melodious  clatter  of  the 

70 


ix       6V.  Falery-sur-Somme  and  Abbeville 

bells  resounding  and  echoing  amongst  the  trees — what 
could  one  wish  for  more  to  wile  away  a  little  time  ? 

Meanwhile  the  train  that  was  to  take  me  to  St. 
Valery  was  waiting  in  the  station,  and  presently  with 
a  prodigious  whistling  it  set  off.  It  very  nearly  left 
me  behind,  for  I  had  to  scramble  in  whilst  it  was 
moving.  There  was  much  unnecessary  excitement  at 
this  amongst  the  officials  and  the  passengers,  but  see- 
ing that  it  never  got  up  more  speed  than  about  seven 
miles  an  hour  throughout  the  journey,  I  felt  that  I 
could  have  boarded  it  anywhere  on  the  run. 

Back  in  St.  Valery,  imagine  my  surprise  when,  walk- 
ing along  the  tree-lined  road  which  follows  the  Somme 
from  the  station  to  the  town,  I  was  met  by  three  in- 
habitants, each  of  whom  sympathetically  asked  me  if 
my  toothache  was  better.  I  had  only  asked  one  man 
about  a  dentist,  but  evidently  "  two  and  two  had  been 
put  together,"  and  news  of  the  visits  to  the  dentist  of 
Monsieur  le  tnatelot  seal  de  la  yacht  Anglais  sur  la  parte ^ 
as  I  found  myself  described,  had  spread. 

To  be  back  in  St.  Valery  was  like  returning  to  my 
native  town.  I  was  greeted  here  and  greeted  there  in 
quite  a  friendly  way.  Moreover,  I  found  the  yacht 
just  as  I  had  left  her. 

Hurriedly  gathering  together  some  paints  and 
brushes,  I  set  off  to  continue  my  interrupted  explora- 
tion of  the  town.  To-day  was  the  only  really  warm 
day  since  the  one  following  our  entrance  into  Calais. 
One  could  sit  sketching  without  shivering.  First  of 
all  I  walked  along  the  quay  until  I  came  to  the  foot  of 

71 


Fro?n  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  ix 

the  clifF  upon  which  the  upper  town  is  built,  there  a 
pile  of  houses  may  be  seen  towering  up  into  the  sky  in 
a  striking  manner  ;  they  are  built  upon  the  fortifica- 
tions that  were  laid  down  by  William  the  Conqueror. 
For  you  must  know  that  it  was  from  here  that  William 
of  that  title  set  sail  for  England  on  September  27, 
1 066.  We  are  told  that  the  fleet  had  waited  some  while 
here  for  a  favouring  breeze,  and  when  at  last  it  came, 
the  Mora,  William's  ship,  led  the  way  out  of  the  har- 
bour. This  ship  is  described  as  having  a  huge  lanthorn 
on  its  mast,  and  a  golden  boy  blowing  an  ivory  horn 
in  the  direction  of  England  in  its  prow.  One  may 
read  all  about  it  near  the  harbour,  for  there  is  a  zinc 
plate  in  an  old  warehouse  there  which  commemorates 
the  embarkation. 

Whilst  I  was  sketching  these  buildings  the  pleasant 
sound  of  children  singing  came  floating  down  from 
a  school  above.  As  I  worked  merrily  along,  occa- 
sional passers-by  would  stop  and  look  at  my  work, 
chat  awhile,  and  walk  off  upon  their  little  business. 

Afterwards  I  walked  up  by  the  harbour  and  thence 
away  above  the  town,  getting  glimpses  of  the  sunlit 
estuary  between  the  roofs  of  the  houses.  I  walked 
along  a  narrow  lane,  which  brought  me  to  a  steep  de- 
cline, which  entered  the  Courgain.  What  a  rambling 
mass  of  red  roofs  and  whitewashed  walls  I  passed  as 
I  descended  farther.  Peeping  in  at  the  little  cottage 
doorways,  I  saw  the  spick-and-span  interior,  where 
the  fishwives  were  busy,  and  I  saw  many  a  little  bit 

of  old-time  furniture,  which  raised  envy  in  my  breast. 

72 


ix      St.  Valery-sur-Somme  and  Abbeville 

I  must  say  it  was  the  cleanest  fishing  quarter  I  have 
ever  been  in.  Scattered  about  upon  the  doorsteps 
men  w^ere  mending  nets  that  v^ere  dyed  the  same  shade 
of  blue  as  their  blouses,  others  were  overhauling  ropes 
and  stropping-blocks  ;  some  of  the  women  were  at 
their  doors  making  lace,  and  the  future  fisher-folk 
— the  little  children — played  quietly.  They  were 
cleanly  little  souls,  pifturesquely  clad.  The  little  boys 
wore  Tam  o'  Shanters  with  just  such  red  "  toories  "  as 
would  have  raised  the  jealousy  of  Wee  McGregor  ; 
the  little  girls  wore  costumes  in  miniature,  similar  to 
those  of  their  mothers.      Sedate  little  folk  they  were. 

The  reader  may  have  realised  that  this  is  an  irre- 
sponsible record,  and  it  will  doubtless  seem  late  in 
the  chapter  to  talk  of  the  origin  of  the  town  of  St. 
Valery  ;  but  the  memory  of  seeing  a  gardener  at  work 
as  I  passed  out  of  this  fisher  quarter,  reminds  me 
now  of  the  gardener  of  Luxeuil,  one  St.  Valery  or 
Walaric,  who,  attracting  the  notice  of  the  Abbot  St. 
Columba,  was  sent  by  him  as  missionary  to  the  mouth 
of  the  Somme.  This  was  years  before  William  the 
Conqueror  came  upon  the  scene.  There  is  a  grass- 
grown  street  in  St.  Valery  called  Le  Chemin  Vert^ 
which  is  said  to  have  been  the  road  where  St.  Walaric 
took  his  daily  walk. 

The  St.  Valery  of  old  was  the  scene  of  much  car- 
nage ;  no  town  has  been  taken  and  re-taken  oftener 
than  St.  Valery,  and  if  it  is  contented  to  remain  more 
a  thing  of  the  past  than  one  of  the  present,  doubtless 
the  difliculties  of  navigating  the  estuary  are  respon- 

73 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  ix 

sible  for  it  ;  but  for  this,  St.  Valery  might  have  run 
Boulogne,  Dieppe,  and  even  Le  Havre  pretty  close 
as  a  port  in  point  of  size.  But  now  such  ships  as 
come  are  under  the  ban  of  compulsory  pilotage,  and 
these  are  often  neaped  (stuck  upon  the  sand  until  the 
return  of  the  next  spring  tides  and  sometimes  longer). 

St.  Valery  is  one  of  the  most  unwearyingly  de- 
lightful places  in  which  to  spend  a  holiday  that  could 
be  imagined. 

There  is  good  bathing  when  the  tide  serves  ;  and 
when  it  doesn't  the  sands  from  St.  Valery  across  to 
Le  Crotoy,  two  miles  away,  are  firm  to  the  tread  and 
clean  as  polished  marble.  Little  French  families  may 
be  seen,  as  they  dig  and  play  or  quietly  take  the  air, 
until  the  horn  that  announces  the  returning  tide  bids 
them  leave  the  sands. 

St.  Valery  is  a  quiet  place,  and  quiet  and  simple 
are  its  visitors,  good-class  French,  with  no  ostentation  ; 
they  are  having  a  quiet  little  holiday,  an  inexpensive 
and  a  happy  one  withal.  Should  boredom  seize  them, 
which  is  not  likely,  they  have  many  places  of  interest 
to  visit — Le  Crotoy,  Cayeux,  and  Abbeville,  also  Berck 
is  not  far  away.     But  St.  Valery  is  all  absorbing. 

Its  people  are  nice,  and  the  fisher-folk  are  most 
picturesque.  The  men  wear  the  pale-blue  blouses, 
and  trousers  that  are  patched  and  patched  again. 
The  women,  with  their  little  white  caps,  are  all  part 
of  St.  Valery.  Everybody  is  busy.  Yet  there  is 
nothing  at  all  to  do.  That  is  perhaps  why  everybody 
is  so  happy. 

74 


CHAPTER    X 

St.  Valery-sur-Somme  to  Le  Hourdel 
and  from  there  to  Le  Treport 

I  INTENDED  to  Sail  to  Trcport  through  the  night,  but 
the  sun  set  vilely  and  rain  came  tearing  down,  so  I 
brought  up  at  Hourdel,  near  the  mouth  of  the  Somme. 
Hourdel  is  a  mere  anchorage  for  fishing-boats,  but  it 
does  a  trade  in  flints  with  Liverpool.  Here  there  are 
about  twenty  houses  only  ;  and  that  about  ten  of  these 
are  cafes  serves  merelv  toremindone  that  it  isin France. 
All  else  is  muddy  harbour  and  miles  of  shingle  stretch- 
ing seawards  and  along  the  coast  to  Cayeux.  The  tide 
leaves  the  harbour  dry  for  about  eight  hours  out  of 
twelve  ;  and  during  these  eight  hours  the  horrible 
odours  from  the  filthy  mud  are  almost  unbearable. 

In  this  deadly  dull  and  dreadful  place,  which  in  fine 
weather  is  perhaps  worth  a  visit,  I  had  to  stay  the  next 
day.  For  those  fishermen  who  did  ventureout  to  sea  re- 
turned quickly,  having  had  enough.  Moreover  sheets 
of  rain  were  still  tearing  down,  and  the  wind  chilled 
one  to  the  marrow. 

In  these  smaller  places  I  was  looked  upon  with  in- 
tense curiosity  by  the  natives.     They  stared  into  my 

75 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  x 

cabin,  with  bovine  placidity — some  of  the  fishermen 
looked  upon  me  as  a  sort  of  mythological  being,  some- 
thing come  up  from  the  sea,  and  that  I  navigated  my 
craft  all  alone  seemed  quite  a  puzzler  to  them  all.  One 
of  these,  who  had  helped  me  with  my  ropes  when 
I  arrived,  seemed  to  regard  me  as  a  curiosity  of  his 
own  ;  I  heard  him  telling  first  one  and  then  the  other 
of  the  little  yacht  that  had  come  all  the  way  from 
London. 

Heartily  sick  of  the  place,  I  set  off  that  evening,  but 
turned  tail  and  ran  back  when  outside,  for,  added  to  the 
wind  and  waves,  I  found  it  also  hazy.  However,  I  got 
clear  of  the  place  the  next  morning  (July  29th)  under 
double-reefed  mainsail  and  second  jib. 

One  wave,  a  false  one,  broke  right  upon  her  top- 
sides  as  I  neared  the  mouth  of  the  Somme  ;  its  coldness, 
as  it  climbed  over  me,  took  my  breath  away,  and  the 
yacht  suddenly  stopped  as  though  all  the  life  had  gone 
out  of  her.  What  was  the  matter  with  her  \  Had 
she  run  into  a  log  and  got  it  athwart  her  bows  .?  No. 
Was  it  fishing-nets  ?  No.  She  staggered  and  heeled 
over  alarmingly.  Something  was  stopping  her,  and 
whatever  it  was  the  Mave  Roes  behaviour  was  begin- 
ning to  be  dangerous.  The  dinghy  was  the  last  of  the 
gamut  of  possibilities  that  raced  through  my  mind,  and 
she  was  the  cause  of  the  trouble. 

She  had  filled  and  turned  over.      Water-logged  and 

bottom  up  with  the  painter  stretched  almost  to  the 

breaking  point,  she  held  the  yacht  back. 

I  *'  hove  to  "  hurriedly.  After  several  attempts  I  suc- 

76 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  x 

ceeded  in  righting  her,  but  she  was  still  water-logged, 
and  she  soaked  into  every  wave-crest  as  it  passed.  It 
was  useless  to  try  and  bail  her,  the  water  would  un- 
doubtedly come  in  as  fast  as  it  was  taken  out.  The 
only  thing  to  do  was  to  get  her  aboard.  If  I  could  only 
get  her  stem  upon  the  rail  and  keepit  there, whilst  some 
of  the  water  drained  out  of  her,  I  could  save  her.  How 
I  tried  !  Sometimes  I  missed  it  by  an  inch.  All  the 
while  hanging  on  as  best  I  could,  whilst  the  yacht 
jumped  and  kicked  like  a  mustang  in  the  really  awful 
sea  that  was  running. 

Well,  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour  I  tried  to  save 
the  little  boat.  By  this  time  the  sea  was  running  higher 
still,  for  the  tide  was  beginning  to  set  against  the  wind, 
and  soon  it  would  be  running  at  seven  knots — just 
twice  the  rate  of  the  Thames  tide.  This  was  not  the 
place  in  which  to  have  a  water-logged  dinghy  attached 
to  one.  So,  with  much  sawing  and  slashing  at  the  rope, 
I  cut  her  adrift.  The  savage  sea  rolled  her  over  and 
she  dropped  astern.  Then  I  let  the  head  sail  draw  and 
sailed  away. 

I  was  not  sorry  to  be  rid  of  her,  she  had  been  quite 
a  source  of  trouble  and  very  little  use.  I  had  cut  her 
adrift  once  before  in  the  Thames  estuary  during  a  win- 
ter gale,  and  after  drifting  about  the  North  Sea  for  a 
month,  she  was  picked  up,  and  I  got  her  again  ;  but 
doubtless  this  was  the  last  I  should  see  of  her,  for  she 
would  be  sure  to  smash  up  on  the  sands  in  such  a  sea 
as  this,  so  I  did  not  report  the  loss  when  I  arrived  at 
Treport. 

78 


X      St.  Valery-sur-Somjne  to  Le  T'report 

A  narrow  channel  is  dredged  across  the  bar  outside 
Treport,  which,  according  to  the  chart,  dries  out  at 
lowest  tides.  Flint  pebbles  choke  the  sides  of  this 
channel  and  are  piled  high  to  the  left.  Upon  the 
other  side  there  are  more  pebbles  and  Les  Granges 
rocks. 

Upon  the  right  hand — death  !  upon  the  left — 
disaster  !  And  away  upon  the  very  tip  of  the  huge 
white  and  red  seared  cliff,  towering  into  the  sky,  the 
figure  of  Christ  upon  the  Cross  leads  the  mariner 
safely  through  the  boiling,  tearing,  hissing,  hellish 
turmoil  of  the  bar  into  the  sheltering  arms  of  the 
harbour. 

I  crossed  this  shrieking  mass  of  broken  water  with 
only  three  feet  to  spare  under  my  keel.  One  touch 
of  the  keel  upon  the  hard  shingle  and  there  would 
have  been  a  sound  of  rending  timber  and  splitting 
spars. 

The  jetties  were  crowded  with  running  fishermen 
and  visitors,  hastening  along  to  see  me  break  up  upon 
the  bar.  They  stared  at  me  in  amazement  when  I 
cleared  this  and  entered  between  the  piers.  I  got  well 
into  the  harbour,  and  several  fishermen  came,  bursting 
with  excitement,  to  help  me  to  stow  my  sails. 

One  of  these  succeeded  in  getting  aboard  as  I  took 
ground,  and  although  I  told  him  to  go,  for  I  did  not 
like  the  look  of  him,  he  went  on  stowing  away,  or 
rather  he  got  in  my  way  whilst  I  did  the  stowing. 
Nothing  would  induce  him  to  bail  out  the  water  I  had 
taken  aboard,  so  I  let  him  see  that  I  meant  him  to  go 

79 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  x 

pretty  quickly.  He  demanded  a  franc,  I  gave  him 
fifty  centimes  to  save  a  row  and  he  cleared  off.  Then 
a  most  delightful  thing  happened  :  an  Englishman 
asked  if  he  might  come  aboard.  He  came,  and  he 
invited  me  to  dine  with  him  at  his  hotel  ;  both  he  and 
his  charming  wife  were  exceedingly  kind  to  me  in 
many  ways. 


80 


CHAPTER    XI 

Le  Treport  and   Eu 

The  Mave  '\RJioe  had  the  appearance  of  an  old- 
clothes-dealer's  stall  as  I  looked  at  her  from  the  quay  ; 
garments  of  all  descriptions  were  hanging  out  to  dry 
upon  the  topping  lift.  I  found  myself  in  a  popular 
watering-place — a  Ramsgate-cum-Southend  sort  of 
place,  only  not  so  nice  as  either. 

Treport  is  divided  into  two  parts,  each  with  its 
casino.  The  newer  part  is  called  Mers,  and  it  shows 
a  miserable  attempt  at  being  swagger.  The  other  part 
— Treport  proper — is  usually  crowded  and  rowdy,  and 
Mers  turns  up  its  nose  at  the  type  of  visitor  to  be 
found  there. 

I  received  a  bad  impression  of  Treport,  and  it  is 
probable  that  the  weather  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with 
this,  for  it  was  cold  and  miserable, gusty  and  wet,  whilst 
I  was  there.  The  people  were  wrapped  up  in  almost 
winter  garb.  Little  boys  ran  about  with  the  hoods  of 
their  capes  over  their  heads  ;  the  women  wore  thick 
ulsters  of  a  huge  tartan  pattern — everybody  looked 
battered  about,  and  smiles  were  few  and  far  between. 

The  keynote  of  my  impression  was  struck  shortly 
after    I   landed.     Screams,   shrieks,   and   wails   were 

8l  F 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  xi 

heard  coming  from  the  centre  of  a  crowd  that  had 
gathered  near  the  quay.  Gendarmes  were  there, 
patiently  listening  to  the  ravings  of  a  well-dressed 
young  woman.  With  her  hat  in  several  pieces, 
her  hair  everywhere,  frothing  at  the  mouth  with 
drunken  anger,  screaming  and  waving  her  umbrella, 
lurching  and  staggering,  she  held  up  an  empty  reticule. 
From  what  one  could  gather  between  her  screams 
and  howls,  she  had  been  drugged  and  robbed.  One 
gendarme  cast  a  doubt  upon  her  statement.  Like 
lightning  she  flew  at  his  face  and  scratched  deep  with 
her  claws,  spitting  the  very  spite  of  an  enraged  tigress 
as  she  did  it.  They  took  her  off  writhing,  kicking 
and  biting  in  uncontrollable  wildness.  Raging  in  her 
rags  she  was  swept  along  to  the  prison-house.  It  is 
always  a  terrible  sight  to  see  a  woman  drunk,  but 
this  was  worse,  for  she  was  decently  clad  and  prob- 
ably rather  pretty. 

Le  Treport  has  a  large  fishing  population,  and  quite 
the  dirtiest  and  nastiest  to  be  found  in  the  whole 
of  France,  I  should  think.  The  fisher-women  are 
very  ragged,  and  they  seem  to  be  for  ever  carrying 
bundles,  boxes,  or  baskets  upon  their  backs.  Coming 
and  going  with  their  huge  burdens  it  is  useless  to 
wonder  why  and  whence  they  are  bringing  and 
whither  they  are  taking  them,  for  you  will  never 
know — it  is  a  secret,  or  at  least  it  is  a  mystery.  The 
one  thing  certain  is  that  they  do  it.  And  what  of 
their  men-folk  .?  If  it  is  fine,  they  go  to  sea  ;  but  let 
them   catch   sight   of  a   sunset  which   suggests  bad 

82 


i 


Types  :  Le  Tri^port 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  xi 

weather,  and  they  don't  go  to  sea — they  get  drunk 
instead. 

The  quay,  with  its  cafes,  picture  post-card,  and 
spade  and  bucket  shops,  is  the  HveUest  part  of  the 
town.  Here  you  will  see  men  strolling  about  each 
with  a  rather  large  red  cylinder  upon  his  back. 
This  you  will  probably  mistake  for  a  fire-extinguishing 
apparatus.  It  is  nothing  of  the  kind.  The  red  affair 
is  his  shop,  and  it  is  well  stocked  with  gaufrettes.  A 
closer  inspection  will  reveal  upon  the  top  of  the  red 
canister  a  wheel  of  fortune  with  numbers  ranging 
from  one  to  five.  Upon  payment  of  five  centimes 
one  may  spin  the  wheel,  and  should  your  luck  be  in, 
you  have  the  possibility  of  gaining  five  of  the  pastry 
leaves  instead  of  one  for  your  money.  The  children 
are  great  patrons  of  the  game,  fior  one  certain,  and 
the  chance  of  five,  appeals  to  the  little  girls  as  much 
as  the  little  boys. 

Strolling  along  towards  the  beach  you  come  to 
the  casino  ;  it  is  just  like  other  casinos,  but  the  scene 
which  meets  your  eye  from  the  jetty  looking  along 
the  lilac  pebbled  beach  resembles  nothing  else. 
Seldom  will  you  find  such  a  fine  mass  of  cliff  as  is 
there.  White  and  scarred  with  brilliant  red  earth 
stains,  patches  of  green  sea-grass,  cracked,  gnarled, 
and  scooped  away  by  the  action  of  the  sea,  the  cliff 
rises  sheer  to  the  height  of  over  three  hundred  feet. 

So  toweringly  high  is  this  cliff  that  the  crowded 
beach  seems  peopled  by  mere  ants,  and  the  boarding- 
houses  along  its  foot  look  like  dolls-houses. 

84 


xi  Le  T?^eport  a?ui  Etc 

At  low  water  there  is  a  little  sand  beyond  the 
pebbles,  but  bathing  is  in  progress  all  the  while. 
Shoes  with  rope  soles  are  used  at  high  water,  for  the 
flint  pebbles  are  bad  for  the  feet,  and  even  with  these, 
one  must  needs  hobble  rather  than  walk. 

Upon  the  jetty  itself  many  people  were  gathered. 
Daring  the  spray  and  occasionally  being  caught  by 
the  drenching  showers,  they  watched  the  blustering 
surf;  and  indeed  it  was  a  sight  worth  seeing  as  it 
thrashed  along  in  blinding  whiteness  and  climbed  the 
sides  of  the  pier. 

In  the  evenings,  whilst  one  sips  one's  cafe  noir^ 
quite  a  good  music-hall  entertainment  may  be  enjoyed 
at  several  of  the  many  cafes  which  fringe  the  quay. 

Bourgeois  visitors,  such  as  Steinlen  might  have 
drawn,  sit  and  listen  to  the  plaintive  songs — those 
sad  melodies,  little  tragedies  of  love.  As  I  sat  there 
the  words  of  the  songs  conveyed  perhaps  little  to  my 
English  ear,  but  the  gestures  were  unmistakable. 
Songs  sung  by  a  painted  lady  who  had  "  lived  "  and 
felt  that  sorrow  of  life  which  is  half  the  making  of  an 
artiste.  A  sprightly  miss,  in  a  rather  shockingly 
decollete  fairy-gown,  chirped  saucy  lyrics,  and  at  these 
the  stout  folk  shook  with  merriment.  Then  a  "  funny 
man  "  in  evening  dress  told  stories  and  sung  songs  in 
which  the  audience  took  up  the  chorus.  Meanwhile 
the  waiters  were  busy.  The  tinkle  of  glasses  was 
heard  and  the  saucers  upon  some  of  the  tables  were 
beginning  to  assume  monumental  heights  which  said 
much  for  the  capacity  of  some  of  the  drinkers. 

85 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  xi 

It  was  quite  like  a  little  bit  of  Montmartre.  This 
end  of  Paris  loves  Le  Treport,  and  it  goes  there  year 
by  year,  just  as  certain  Londoners  think  they  have  not 
lived  unless  they  go  to  Margate  once  in  the  year. 

The  songs  followed  me  as  I  stepped  across  the  fish- 
ing-boats to  the  yacht  and  into  the  land  of  Nod. 

I  was  aroused  next  morning  by  the  patter  of  rain 
upon  the  deck,  and  the  howl  of  wind  through  the 
rigging.  Throughout  the  night  I  had  been  occa- 
sionally conscious  that  the  yacht  had  been  bump- 
ing and  groaning  whilst  rubbing  her  sides  against  the 
fishing-boat  alongside  which  she  was  moored. 

Little  drips  of  water  were  coming  through  the  deck 
as  I  got  the  stove  going,  and  a  general  feeling  of 
dampness  was  eating  its  way  into  my  brain  and  getting 
upon  my  nerves.  The  sound  of  spluttering  eggs  and 
bacon  usually  has  a  lively,  hopeful  sound  aboard  a 
yacht,  but  this  morning  it  had  no  power  to  cheer,  and 
I  was  glad  when  the  meal  was  over. 

There  was  quite  a  popple  of  sea  in  the  harbour,  and 
no  doubt,  to  judge  by  the  bumps  and  scrapes  she  was 
getting,  the  boat's  sides,  despite  the  rope  fenders  I  had 
made  for  their  protection,  were  by  now  bare  of  paint 
in  places,  and  I  felt  too  depressed  to  see  what  damage 
had  been  done. 

1  left  her,  hating  ships,  the  sea,  foreign  countries, 
and  all  things  generally,  and  slipping  over  the  greasy 
decks  of  the  fishing-boats  I  climbed  up  the  iron  ladder 
to  the  quay.  I  was  greeted  by  two  officials.  I  did 
not  recognise  them  as  Doiianiers,  for  they  were  smoth- 

86 


xi  Le  Treport  and  Eu 

ered  in  long  capes  with  the  hoods  over  their  heads. 
They  had  not  visited  me  the  day  before,  but  here  they 
vv^ere  at  last,  requiring  particulars  of  the  boat.  This 
meant  adjourning  to  one  of  the  side  streets  where  the 
smaller  cafes  are.  I  always  found  Messieurs  des  Douanes 
could  understand  my  French  better  with  a  glass  in 
front  of  them.  These  were  no  exceptions,  and  indeed 
I  was  glad  of  their  company.  They  were  amusing 
enough  in  themselves,  but  what  was  better,  the  cafe 
they  selected  was  a  little  bit  of  downright  French. 
Gaiety  thus  early  tinkled  through  the  spring-doors  as 
we  entered — the  pretty  laughter  of  Madame,  and  the 
louder  mirth  of  her  customers. 

This  merriment  was  caused  by  an  old  dude.  He 
had  offered  his  heart  to  Madame,  and  was  bringing 
the  whole  company  to  witness  it,  snapping  his  fingers 
at  Monsieur,  who  seemed  to  enjoy  the  affair  as  much 
as  his  cognac. 

The  high-flown  gallantries  of  the  old  gentleman,  his 
gestures  and  his  mimicry  of  the  lover  loving  against 
hope,  were  little  bits  of  exquisite  comedy.  "  If  Ma- 
dame would  but  leave  her  horrible  husband,  what  joy 
it  would  make."  They  "  would  lightly  trip  and  dance 
through  the  days  that  would  ever  be  sunny  "  (they 
were  both  rather  stout).  His  flowing  language  was 
rising  to  Olympian  heights,  and  where  it  would  have 
landed  him  I  cannot  say,  for  the  door  opened  and  one 
could  laugh  no  longer.  A  gust  of  rain-sodden  wind 
blew  in  and  with  it  came  an  ashen,  wretched,  more 
than   death-like  face — the  face  of  a   woman.     The 

87 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  xi 

skeleton  hands  clasped  close  to  her  wasted  bosom,  a 
shawl  whose  folds  were  lost  amongst  the  rags  and 
creases  of  neglect.  Her  skirt  bore  stains  like  in  colour 
to  those  found  upon  timber  sodden  with  decay.  The 
rain  dripped  off  her  shoulders  like  grease  as  she  hob- 
bled in.  She  coughed — how  like  the  laughter  of  a 
ghost  it  sounded — and  dragged  her  rags  to  the  bar. 
Madame  de  la  cafe  was  ready — the  glass  was  on  the 
counter  ;  there  was  a  horridgurgle  and  its  contents  had 
vanished.  Two  coins  were  silently  placed  by  the  side 
of  the  empty  glass  and  the  figure  slowly  vanished. 
When  the  swing-door  closed  behind  her,  I  realised 
that  no  one  had  spoken  whilst  that  shadow  of  human 
degradation  was  passing. 

The  old  dude  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 
"  Madame,"  he  said,  "  I  do  not  now  wish  to  run  away 
with  you.  Your  sex  is  irresponsible.  How  do  I  know 
that  you  would  not  become  like  that  \  "  This  set  the 
merriment  going  again. 

Messieurs  des  Douanes  mistook  my  praise  of  the 
brandy  for  an  invitation  to  have  a  third,  and  when 
this  had  disappeared  they  made  much  show  getting 
into  their  cloaks  and,  smiting  themselves  upon  the 
chests,  they  exclaimed  together,  as  if  it  had  been 
rehearsed,  "  Duty  !  "  and  departed. 

I  asked  Monsieur  de  la  cafe  how  I  could  best  get 
to  Eu.  Monsieur  turned  to  his  wife — why  is  it  I 
wonder  that  a  Frenchman  never  answers  a  question 
without  first  consulting  Madame  }  "  Far  le  tramway 
sur  le  quai^  Monsieur,''  said  the  dimpled  lady. 

88 


xi  Le  Trip  or  t  and  Eu 

I  stepped  aboard  the  tram  and  was  in  Mers  before 
I  thought  to  ask  if  I  were  in  the  proper  tram.  I  was 
not,  however,  so  I  descended  and  gazed  upon  the  splen- 
dours of  Mers,  about  which  I  have  nothing  to  add  to 
what  I  have  already  told  you. 

Once  more  by  the  quai,  I  set  off  for  Eu.  Histori- 
cally Treport  is  a  mere  appendage  to  Eu,  its  principal 
event  being  the  landing  there  of  Queen  Victoria,  who 
visited  Louis  Philippe  with  grand  display  at  the 
Chateau  of  Eu  in  1843. 

This  was  not  a  day  which  one  would  choose  to  spend 
much  time  in  making  the  necessarily  detailed  sketch 
of  the  west  front  of  St.  Laurent,  and  it  was  with 
regret  that  I  could  not  fill  a  page  of  my  sketch- 
book with  an  attempt  at  recording  its  delicacy. 

The  church  was  built  in  11 86,  and  it  took  forty- 
four  years  to  build.  It  occupies  the  site  of  an  old 
collegiate  church  in  which  William  the  Conqueror 
was  married  in  1 050,  but  the  despicable  mask  of  over- 
restoration  swamps  its  character  entirely  save  for  the 
part  already  mentioned,  which  has  that  luscious 
crumbly  quality  that  age  alone  can  give. 

In  1 180  when  the  leaves  lay  red  upon  the  ground 
an  aged  pilgrim  was  seen  approaching  the  town  by  two 
shepherds.  "  What  house  is  that  below  .?  "  he  asked 
of  them.  "  It  belongs  to  the  canons  of  St.  Victor," 
they  replied.  The  holy  man  proceeded,  saying,  " Here 
is  the  place  where  I  shall  rest  for  ever."  They  took 
him  in,  for  his  name  was  Laurence  O'Tool,  Arch- 
bishop of  Dublin.      Soon  he  died,  and  his  last  words 

89 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seifie  xi 

were,  "Thank  God,  I  have  not  a  penny  in  the  world." 
The  holy  man  could  not  have  left  a  better  portion  with 
the  monks  than  his  bones,  for  other  pilgrims  came. 
They  came  in  numbers  to  see  his  shrine,  and  they  left 
alms  wherewith  the  Church  of  St.  Laurent  was  built. 
Hence  the  name. 

The  chateau  was  built  upon  the  site  of  a  very  ancient 
fortress.  There  the  shipwrecked  Harold  was  betrothed 
to  one  of  William's  daughters.  Joan  of  Arc  is  said  to 
have  been  shut  up  in  one  of  its  towers.  Louis  Philippe 
added  to  and  restored  it  in  1821.  About  two-thirds 
of  the  castle  were  destroyed  by  fire  in  1902,  but  the 
grounds  are  remarkably  fine  and  they  command  a  view 
of  the  sea. 

The  town  is  only  interesting  near  the  church  ;  the 
other  part  down  towards  the  canal  seems  to  be  all  coal, 
and  corrugated  iron  sheds,  but  passing  these  you  will 
come  to  the  canal,  which  is  rather  picturesque  with  its 
tall  trees  to  the  trunks  of  which  deep-sea  ships  arc 
wont  to  fix  their  warps. 

The  forest  of  Eu,  three  miles  away,  is  a  favourite 
place  for  excursions  ;  but  a  forest  upon  a  wet  day  is  not 
attractive,  so  I  did  not  see  it. 

Back  in  Treport,  the  harbour  was  crowded  with 
fishing -boats  which  had  come  in  for  shelter,  and  the 
quay  swarmed  with  fishermen.  One  of  them,  from 
too  much  cognac,  seemed  to  have  developed  a  great 
sorrow — the  sorrow,  from  what  I  could  gather,  being 
for  myself  in  my  loneliness,  for  he  came  aboard  and 
would  not  go.     After  much  useless  persuasion,  I  be- 

90 


r    * 


The  Canal:    Eii 


xi  Le  Treport  and  Eu 

came  annoyed  and  pitched  him  into  the  boat  alongside 
which  my  craft  was  moored.  He  picked  up  a  long 
sweep  oar  and  succeeded  in  hitting  me  a  blow  upon 
the  chest.  He  grew  wild.  The  situation  looked 
serious,  but  it  ended  by  his  casting  off  my  warps,  and 
then  bursting  into  tears  and  apologies,  as  he  saw  the 
tide  slowly  taking  my  boat  away.  The  owner  of  the 
sweep,  which  was  lost  overboard,  had  him  arrested. 
I  thought  after  this  it  would  be  better  to  seek  the 
shelter  of  the  dock.  So,  setting  the  jib,  I  pointed  for 
the  swing-bridge.  1  asked  a  man  in  a  boat  what  was 
the  signal  for  the  opening  of  the  bridge.  He  answered, 
"  Plenty  vind,"  and  I  had  asked  in  my  very  best 
French,  too.  I  approached  the  bridge  as  near  as  I 
dared,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  its  opening,  so  I  went 
alongside  the  wharf.  There  was  no  ladder  near  and  I 
was  trying  to  climb  up  one  of  the  piles,  when  a  young, 
well-dressed  Frenchman,  accompanied  by  his  sister, 
asked  me  in  quaint  English  if  he  could  assist  me.  He 
offered  his  walking-stick,  and  she  offered  the  handle 
of  her  umbrella,  and  between  the  two  of  them  they 
managed  to  get  me  up.  I  repeated  my  question  about 
the  bridge,  this  time  in  English,  and  my  new-found 
friend  replied,  "  I  do  not  know,  but  I  will  go  beg." 
I  wondered  whether  or  not  my  French  was  as  funny 
as  his  English.  However,  he  was  a  very  good  sort. 
He  went  to  "  beg,"  and  as  the  bridge  opened,  both  he 
and  his  sister  took  hold  of  my  warp  and  towed  me 
through  the  lock,  and  soon  I  was  snugly  moored  in 
a  corner  of  the  dock  with  the  prospect  of  a  quiet 

91 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  xi 

night's  rest  before  me.  There  I  found  another  English 
yacht — a  craft  of  about  fourteen  tons.  She  had  been 
sheltering  in  the  dock  for  thirteen  days,  her  owner 
looking  miserable,  and  her  paid  hand  fat  and  happy. 

Thick  woolly  fog  banks  were  rolling  over  the  hills 
and  down  into  the  valley  of  the  Bresle  as  I  peeped 
out  of  the  hatchway  the  next  morning  ;  and  the  wind 
still  tore  at  the  rigging. 

I  was  swabbing  down  the  decks  and  making  things 
a  bit  more  ship-shape  when  my  French  friend  came 
along.  "  You  will  not  go  to-day  ?  "  he  queried. 
"  The  sea  is  very  bad  outside." 

He  came  aboard  and  was  intensely  interested  in 
the  cabin  arrangements,  the  simplicity  of  my  swing- 
cot  surprising  him  vastly. 

We  walked  to  the  end  of  the  jetty  together  and 

the  waves  were  still  dashing  over  it  at  the  end,  but 

the  clouds  were  a  little  higher  and  the  wind  had  not 

the  cruel  bite  that  had  been  with  it  the  last  three  or 

four  days.    So  I  decided  to  make  a  start.    There  was 

little  time  to   spare  ;   the  dock-gates  would  close  in 

half-an-hour,  so  we  ran  the   half-mile  back  to  the 

yacht.     The  inner  port  between  the  dock-gates  and 

the  swing-bridge  is  a  narrow  piece  of  water  down 

which  it  is  impossible  to  sail  without  a  leading  wind. 

My  Frenchman  once  more  made  use  of  the  tow-rope 

and   pulled   me   along  this   for  a  quarter  of  a  mile 

stretch.      We  were  making  very  slow  progress  against 

the  wind,   but   presently   his  sister  came  along  and 

lent  a  hand,  the  little  lady  pulled  so  strenuously  that 

92 


xi  I^e  T^r Sport  and  En 

we  doubled  our  speed  and  were  soon  in  the  outer 
harbour.  Then  bidding  them  adieu,  I  set  sail  and 
they  followed  me  to  the  end  of  the  jetty  and  watched 
until  I  could  no  longer  see  their  waving  handkerchiefs. 
It  is  pleasant  to  record  such  kindliness  as  these 
people,  whose  names  I  do  not  even  know,  extended 
to  a  total  stranger  and  a  foreigner  in  their  country. 
I  wonder  whether  I  should  have  found  such  friendli- 
ness had  I  been  a  foreigner  in  England  .?  I  know 
my  attempts  to  climb  up  the  sides  of  the  wharf  would 
have  been  a  subjett  for  ridicule,  and  in  England  I 
should  never  have  attempted  it  for  this  reason.  But 
in  France  a  foreigner  is  a  guest  ;  and  if  we  do  not  pre- 
sent ourselves  "  avec  cet  aplomb  irritant  des  Anglais 
en  voyage^''  kindness  and  courtesy  will  await  us. 


93 


CHAPTER   XII 

Le  Treport  to   Dieppe 

July  3 1  J/. — I  found  the  sea  outside  pretty  bad,  but 
not  so  bad  as  when  I  entered  ;  indeed  it  was  a  com- 
paratively pleasant  sail  along  the  skirts  of  the  white 
cliffs  with  their  beautiful  lilac  shadows,  for  the  sun 
was  shining.  I  made  better  progress,  too,  against  the 
apparently  inevitable  head-wind,  and  I  soon  arrived 
at  Dieppe.  It  was  dead  low  water  when  I  entered 
between  the  piers.  I  heard  the  shriek  of  a  siren  out 
seawards,  and  one  of  the  Newhaven-Dieppe  steamers 
was  making  for  the  entrance  at  full  speed.  Harbour 
officials  at  the  top  of  the  pier  thirty  feet  above  were 
excitedly  waving  their  arms  and  screaming  at  me, 
"  Le  ^aquebot  !  Le  T^aguebot  I  "  What  was  a 
steamer  to  me  .?  Had  I  not  encountered  many 
such  in  the  Thames  .? 

"  Venex  lelong  ici^  M'sieur,''  one  of  the  men 
shouted.  As  the  pier  completely  blanketed  the 
wind,  I  got  out  an  oar  and  did  this,  and  dis- 
covered that  1  was  nearly  upon  the  stone  base  of 
the  pier  which  was  just  covered  by  the  water  out 
of  which  short  piles  of  timber  were  protruding.  If 
the  steamer's  wash  set  me  on  these,  I  should  find  my 
yacht  wrecked. 

94 


In  the  Steamer'' s  wash  at  Diefpe 


xii  Lie  Treport  to  Dieppe 

There  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  I  rushed  up  to  the 
mast  and  held  the  craft  broadside  off  these  with  the 
oar.  The  steamer  whizzed  past  at  top  speed,  followed 
by  a  tremendous  wash  which  increased  in  height  as  it 
passed  along  the  shallow  water  in  which  I  was.  I 
felt  sure  this  was  the  end  of  the  Mave  Rhoe ;  it  lifted 
her  up  like  a  cork,  and  its  crest  broke  over  everything. 
When  it  was  past,  feeling  sure  one  of  the  piles  had 
gone  through  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  I  waited  near 
the  mast  to  be  ready  to  climb  up  it  when  she  sank. 
But  she  showed  no  signs  of  sinking,  and  running  into 
the  cabin  I  found,  as  a  result  of  the  wash,  water  a 
foot  deep  above  her  floor  boards.  It  wasn't  increasing, 
however,  which  showed  no  damage  had  been  done. 
That  the  yacht  was  safe  struck  me  as  a  complete 
miracle. 

A  steamer  usually  slows  down  a  bit  as  she  enters  a 
harbour,  but  there  is  such  a  strong  tide  across  the 
ends  of  the  two  jetties  at  Dieppe,  that  the  entrance 
has  to  be  taken  by  large  vessels  at  top  speed.  Other- 
wise whilst  succeeding  in  getting  their  stems  safely  in 
their  sterns  might  swing  round  and  foul  one  or  other 
of  the  jetties. 

There  are  men  always  ready  to  track  vessels  in, 
but  despite  the  fluky  wind  which  comes  along  the 
jetties  in  puffs  from  all  direftions,  I  went  in  under 
sail  against  the  tide. 

Here  I  found  the  fishermen  quite  different  from 
those  of  Treport.  One  of  these,  with  the  help  of  his 
wife  upon  the  quay,  who  caught  his  rope  and  tracked 

95 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  xii 

him  in,  overtook  me.  He  told  me  I  had  passed 
him  out  at  sea,  and  perhaps  by  way  of  showing  his 
admiration  of  my  little  craft  he  berthed  me  snugly 
alongside  his  boat,  offered  to  dry  my  things,  and  set 
his  son  to  work  bailing  out  the  water.  This  boy 
seemed  to  think  he  had  acquired  a  world  of  wealth 
when  I  gave  him  two  francs.  When  I  returned  to 
the  yacht  after  a  trot  ashore,  I  was  surprised  to  find 
he  had  stowed  everything  beautifully,  coiled  all  the 
ropes  neatly,  and  done  much  work  with  the  wash- 
leather. 

This  drew  my  attention  to  her  appearance,  she  was 
in  a  sorry  plight.  I  had  worn  out  all  my  fenders  in 
trying  to  save  her  paint,  but  it  was  scraped  to  pieces, 
and  indeed,  in  places  bare  wood  was  showing.  Tar 
from  the  fishing-boats  was  also  distributed  artistically 
and  liberally  about  her  sides. 

The  kindness  of  the  fisherman  was  still  more  mani- 
fest when,  entering  the  cabin,  I  found  on  the  table, 
upon  one  of  my  plates,  two  iridescent  mackerel. 


96 


CHAPTER   XIII 

Dieppe 

Although  the  steamer  that  had  nearly  swamped  me 
had  filled  the  town  with  English  trippers,  Dieppe 
was  not  robbed  by  them  of  its  "  Frenchness." 

As  modern  as  Boulogne,  it  is  yet  strangely  old- 
fashioned,  for  its  novtXiits  pour  plaisance  do  not  over- 
power it.  It  is  still  an  old,  old  town  and  a  very  beau- 
tiful one.  Its  people  do  not  suggest  that  they  are 
there  to  make  money  out  of  the  visitors.  The 
country,  too,  around  Dieppe  is  gloriously  beautiful. 

It  has  prodigious  cliffs,  white  cliffs  that  are  verit- 
able playgrounds  for  delicate  shadows  and  dancing 
blue  refle(5lions  caught  from  the  sea.  The  houses 
upon  its  sea-front  are  not  swollen  with  their  own 
importance,  and  it  is  difficult  to  realise  that  the  big 
hotels  there  are  as  numerous  and  as  fine  as  at,  say, 
Ostend.  These  are  dwarfed  and  kept  in  proper  in- 
significance by  the  grandeur  of  the  scene  which 
stretches  from  the  summit  of  the  North  Cliff  where 
towers  the  church  of  Notre-Dame  de  Bon  Secours, 
past  the  harbour  mouth,  along  the  flatness  of  the 
town,  and  over  the  lawns  that  border  the  sea,  away 
to  the  ancient  chateau  upon  the  southern  cliff.      So 

97  G 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine         xiii 

grand  and  big  is  all  this,  that  people  look  like  little 
coloured  powder  specks,  and  even  the  casino  seems 
toy-like. 

The  panorama  is  grand,  and  filled  with  many  historic 
associations.  Upon  the  North  Cliff  some  walls  are  left 
standing,  and  the  dark  entrance  of  several  caverns  may 
be  seen  ;  they  are  all  that  stands  of  the  Bastille.  Built 
here  in  1566  it  remained  for  a  hundred  years,  but  we 
are  bidden  to  think  of  that  earlier  Bastille  established 
by  Talbot  in  1442.  This  was  a  wooden  affair  sur- 
rounded by  a  fosse,  and  it  contained  twenty  cannon  and 
some  smaller  arms.  This  was  sufficient  for  Talbot, 
who,  leaving  a  garrison  there,  sailed  across  to  England 
to  gather  troops  and  a  blockading  squadron.  Mean- 
while news  of  these  doings  at  Dieppe  spread  to  Charles 
VII,  and  Louis  the  Dauphin  in  his  twentieth  year  saw 
that  therein  lay  a  chance  to  distinguish  himself.  With 
sixteen  hundred  troops  and  some  experienced  captains 
he  set  off  to  Dieppe.  His  boyish  enthusiasmroused  the 
sluggish  French,  and  by  the  time  he  arrived  he  had  an 
army  twice  as  large.  No  sooner  had  he  reached  Dieppe 
than  he  began  the  siege.  The  English  made  two  sorties 
which  the  tired  Frenchmen  repulsed, but  the  boy  could 
not  retaliate  without  the  necessary  means  of  passing  the 
fosse.  He  set  his  men  to  work,  and  soon  some  ingen- 
ious contraptions  consisting  of  bridges  upon  wheels 
were  made,  and  these  were  lowered  across  the  fosse  and 
the  attack  began.  With  one  eye  upon  the  seaboard, 
anxiously  watching  for  the  dreaded  English  fleet,  the 
Dauphin  set  his  men  upon  the  attack.  It  was  repulsed  ; 

98 


xiii  Dieppe 

the  English  arrows  and  stones  rolled  many  Frenchmen 
dead  and  wounded  into  the  fosse  and  the  rest  retired 
in  considerable  dread  and  discomfort.  The  Dauphin 
stormed  and  raged,  for  the  faces  of  his  captains  wore 
signs  that  told  plainer  than  words  what  they  thought 
of  him  and  his  inexperienced  rashness. 

That  was  enough.  With  the  smell  of  battle  in  his 
nostrils,  he  grasped  a  scaling  ladder,  rushed  alone  across 
one  of  the  bridges  and  began  to  climb  the  wall.  This 
a(5t  inspired  theFrenchmen,  andthewholearmy  scram- 
bled to  help  him.  They  crowded  up  the  ladders  with 
such  wild  madness  of  attack,  that  the  English  fell  back, 
and  after  losing  five  hundred  men  surrendered.  The 
Bastille  was  razed  to  the  ground. 

The  day  was  the  Vigil  of  the  Assumption  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  and  Louis  in  his  dust  and  bloodstains 
went  straight  off  to  St.  Jacques  to  give  thanks  for  the 
victory. 

The  anniversary  of  this  victory  was  celebrated  by 
a  disgusting  procession  and  a  miracle-play  performed 
at  the  Church  of  St.  Jacques,  in  which  a  celebrated 
buffoon  made  fun  of  the  representations  of  sacred  per- 
sonages, by  which  the  crowded  congregation  were 
made  merry  and  prepared  for  the  orgies  which  ended 
the  day.  These  incongruous  and  shocking  displays 
took  place  annually  until  1647,  when  Louis  XIV 
stopped  them. 

The  eye  follows  the  outline  of  the  cliff,  which  was 
the  scene  of  this  victory,  until  the  mass  is  nearly  lost 
in  the  smoke  from  the  chimneys  of  La  Pollet,  whose 

99 


From  the  'Thames  to  the  Seine         xiii 

irregular  streets  are  so  strange  and  pi6turesque.     This 
is  the  portion  of  the  town  where  the  fisher-folk  dwell. 

Glancing  across  the  stretch  of  town,  we  remember 
that  it  might  still  have  been  a  wooden  one,  but  for  the 
privateers  of  Dieppe,  who  in  1 694  worried  the  English 
fleet  which  was  returning  from  an  unsuccessful  attack 
upon  Brest.  This  fleet,  in  retaliation,  threw  bombs 
into  the  town  with  such  vigour  that  the  whole  place 
was  soon  ablaze,  and  the  finest  house  in  all  Normandy 
— the  house  of  Ango — was  thus  destroyed.  How- 
ever, perhaps  it  was  for  the  best,  and  the  rebuilding 
took  place  so  long  ago  that  the  town  nowadays  wears 
an  old  garment.  Previous  to  this,  in  spite  of  its  suffer- 
ings from  the  plague  in  1668-70  the  town  had  been 
most  prosperous,  and  its  citizens  had  grown  wealthy 
from  repeated  privateering  expeditions. 

Jean  Ango,  who  was  born  in  1480,  strikes  the  key- 
note of  the  harmonious  prosperity  which  Dieppe  en- 
joyed during  his  time.  Upon  the  death  of  his  father 
Jean  gave  up  active  seafaring,  and  settled  down  as  a 
shipowner,  and  to  a  life  devoted  to  the  one  aim  of 
increasing  the  fortune  his  father  had  left  him. 

Shipowner  meant  also  privateer,  and  privateer 
meant  sea-rover. 

Ango  had  soon  collected  a  big  fleet,  which  was  scat- 
tered about  the  two  worlds,  and  by  1525  his  wealth 
was  fabulous  ;  he  built  the  lovely  house  above  referred 
to,  in  which  he  lived  and  entertained  in  princely 
grandeur. 

He  also  built  the  Manoir  d'Ango,  which  remains  to 


xiii  Dieppe 

this  day,  and  raised  a  monument  of  lavish  splendour 
which  impressed  Francois  I.  The  King  visited  Ango 
there,  and  w^as  so  thunderstruck  by  the  noble  magnifi- 
cence and  the  dazzling  display  of  treasure  collected 
from  all  parts  of  the  w^orld,  that  he  made  his  host  a 
Vicomte. 

Ango  not  only  had  a  huge  fleet  of  merchant  ships, 
but  also  some  twenty  ships  of  war  for  their  proteftion. 
Many  fights  and  scrimmages  took  place  between  his 
men  and  Flemish  and  Portuguese  sailors.  But  when  at 
last  one  of  his  merchantmen  was  captured,  her  crew 
massacred,  and  the  vessel  taken  into  Lisbon,  Ango  lost 
no  time  before  he  sent  a  fleet  to  Portugal,  where  it  cap- 
tured sev^eral  richly  laden  ships  and  destroyed  many 
villages.  The  Portuguese,  never  dreaming  that  this 
was  the  work  of  a  mere  privateer,  sent  a  dispatch  ask- 
ing why  the  King  of  France  had  broken  the  peace. 
Francois  replied,  "  It  was  not  I  who  made  war  upon 
you.  Go,  find  Ango,  and  arrange  your  affairs  with 
him." 

Soon  Francois  died  and  Ango's  fortune  began  to 
dwindle.  He  became  pettish  in  his  pride.  His  friends 
deserted  him.  One  of  these  accused  Ango  of  swind- 
ling and  brought  a  successful  action  against  him.  Then 
five  or  six  other  friends  brought  further  actions.  Cred- 
itors came  when  his  fortune  was  squandered  and  took 
away  his  works  of  art,  his  plate  and  all  he  possessed. 
He  became  the  governor  of  the  castle,  and,  afraid  to 
venture  out,  he  lingered  therein,  lonely  and  poverty- 
stricken,  until  he  died  in  1 55 1.    That  is  the  tale  of  the 


lOI 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine         xiii 

"  Medici  of  Dieppe."  You  must  go  to  Le  Mesnil  to 
see  the  Manoir  d'Ango,  and  if  you  do  not  see  the  ghost 
of  Ango,  you  will  see  the  signs  of  his  one  time  great- 
ness. 

Thus  the  civil  history,  you  see,  is  not  without  its 
strife,  and  the  old  town  upon  the  **  Deep  " — as  the 
estuary  of  the  Arques  used  to  be  called,  from  which 
Dieppe  takes  its  name — was  always  in  dread  of  the 
English,  who  captured  and  destroyed  it  several  times, 
and  it  suffered  in  the  Religious  Wars. 

We  have  not  done  with  our  panorama  yet.  There 
is  still  the  castle  and  the  bold  cliff  upon  which  it 
stands. 

The  castle  was  built  to  defend  the  town  against 
exploits  of  our  own,  but  it  could  not  withstand  the 
bombardment  of  1694.  However,  our  bombs  did  not 
destroy  it,  and  it  remains  in  use  as  a  barracks,  to 
which  visitors  are  not  admitted. 

The  casino  is  in  the  picture,  but  it  is  modern,  and 
its  history  is  only  that  of  loss  and  gain  at  the  gaming 
tables.  It  is  good  fun  in  fine  weather  to  watch  the 
bathers  at  the  Etablissement  des  Bains. 

Passing  through  the  streets,  glancing  at  the  tempt- 
ing shops,  we  come  to  the  Market  Square,  and  there, 
in  front  of  the  Church  of  St.  Jacques,  is  a  fine  statue 
of  Duquesne,  who  was  one  of  the  most  illustrious 
Admirals  of  France.  He  was  a  native  of  Dieppe,  and 
in  1676  he  defeated  the  Dutchman,  De  Ruyter. 

The  square  with  its  flower  and  fruit  stalls  is  most 
pi6luresque.     I  was  tempted  to  sketch  it,  and  sitting 


102 


'ir^-^^'m..^ 


—sk''^ 


dm 


Xlll 


Dieppe 

at  one  of  the  tables  outside  a  cafe  busily  at  work,  I 
was  interrupted  by  a  stranger  who  had  been  watching 
the  progress  of  my  sketch.  He  said,  "  Le  sujet  il  est 
tres  difficile^  Monsieur.'''  "  Oui^  Monsieur^'  I  agreed. 
Then  he  added,  "  'Je  suis  un  peintre  Anglais^  mats  de  la 
portrait^  "  Then  why  the  devil  don't  you  speak 
English  !  "  I  exclaimed.  We  took  wine  with  each 
other,  both  enjoying  the  joke. 


Casino  :   Dieppe 


The  river  Arques  as  it  enters  the  port  of  Dieppe 
would  not  suggest  the  babbling  beauty  that  the  stream 
possesses  farther  away.  But  follow  its  banks.  You 
need  go  no  farther  than  where  the  river  Bethune 
joins  forces  with  it,  and  you  will  see  what  beautiful 
country  it  passes  through.  You  will  see  the  Castle 
of  Arques  ;  it  is  a  favourite  resort  of  visitors,  and  it 
is  only  three  miles  and  a  half  from  Dieppe.  Train, 
waggonette,  and  carriage  are  waiting  to  take  you  there. 

103 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine        xiii 

It  was  at  the  Castle  of  Arques  that  Robert  le  Diable 
told  his  mother  that  he  didn't  thank  her  for  giving 
him  birth.  Whether  this  story  is  true  or  not,  there 
were  doubtless  many  who  in  his  day  could  have  said 
the  same.  However,  the  castle  dates  from  the  time 
of  William  the  Conqueror,  and  it  has  the  reputation 
of  being  the  last  Norman  stronghold  to  surrender  to 
the  English.  There  is  a  history  attached  to  every 
stone  of  the  chateau,  so  to  speak,  but  after  the  time 
of  Henry  of  Navarre  the  castle  fell  slowly  to  ruin. 

For  those  who  love  a  quiet  holiday,  there  are  around 
Dieppe  many  charming  little  bathing-places.  To  the 
westward  Pourville  and  Varangeville,  and  a  little  be- 
yond d'Ailly  Lighthouse,  St.  Marguerite  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Saone  and  Quiberville  are  delightful.  In  the 
other  direction.  Pays — where  there  are  first-class  fur- 
nished houses — is  but  a  pleasant  walk  from  Dieppe 
along  the  shore  at  low  tide.  It  was  a  favourite  place 
of  the  late  Lord  Salisbury,  who  had  a  villa  there. 

Those  who  can  brave  the  lack  of  bathing  tents, 
hotels,  and  other  signs  of  holiday-making  by  the  sea, 
may  find  many  nice  little  primitive  places — as  yet  pro- 
found secrets.  The  night  I  spent  at  Dieppe  I  wished 
for  nothing  better  than  to  sit  outside  the  Cafe  Suisse 
and  listen  to  the  band,  whilst  reading  the  faces  of  the 
people  around  me  and  trying  to  learn  a  little  of  their 
lives. 


104 


CHAPTER    XIV 

Dieppe  to   St.   Valery-en-Caux 

Sunday^  August  ist-ind. — I  set  off  from  Dieppe  with  a 
fine  breeze  under  whole  mainsail  until  I  arrived  off 
Point  d'Ailly.  Here  I  set  the  topsail,  for  the  wind 
had  fallen  light  ;  then  it  came  aft,  and  I  set  the  beauti- 
ful bellying  cream  silk  spinnaker  which  had  not  been 
out  of  its  bag  since  I  had  left  the  Thames. 

The  white  sunlit  cliffs,  ranging  along  the  coast  as 
far  astern  as  the  eye  could  reach,  the  lovely  sky,  the 
smooth  blue-green  sea,  and  the  balmy  sun-bathed  air, 
made  life  worth  living.  The  offing  was  scattered  w^ith 
tan-sailed  fishing-boats,  their  sails  patched  with  many 
shades  of  that  rich  hue,  and  even  a  French  yacht 
had  ventured  out.  I  felt  almost  like  a  yachtsman  my- 
self after  the  awful  wind  and  furrowed  sea  that  had 
been  my  lot  since  leaving  Boulogne.  We  were  a 
salted  pair — the  yacht  and  I.  My  clothes  were  grey 
with  it,  and  it  glittered  upon  the  sunlit  sails  as  high 
as  the  jaws  of  the  gaff.  The  wind  fell  lighter  still  as 
I  crept  along  towards  Veules,  where  everybody  grows 
roses. 

Off  Veules  I  was  becalmed.  One  hour,  two  hours — 
I  don't  know  how  many  hours  it  seemed,  but  I  was 

105 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine         xiv 

stationary  here  until  the  tide  turned  against  me  and 
was  taking  me  towards  the  huge  rocks  that  stretch 
from  Cape  d'Ailly  half  a  mile  out  to  sea.  Then  night 
fell. 

A  glance  at  the  chart  showed  a  shoal  known  as  the 
Raz  de  St.  Michel.  I  waited  until  I  thought  I  was 
drifting  over  it.  I  threw  the  lead  over  to  make  sure. 
There  was  twenty-five  feet  of  water,  so  splash  went 
the  anchor.  As  it  bit  into  the  gravel  the  moon  came 
up  over  the  valley  of  St.  Aubin,  and  scattered  her 
lustrous  refleftion  over  the  sea. 

I  lowered  the  jib,  but  left  the  mainsail  standing. 
I  then  turned  in  and  slept  until  I  was  awakened  by 
the  flapping  of  the  sail.  This  turned  me  out  again, 
and  I  found  the  yacht  had  swung  to  the  new  tide. 
So  getting  up  the  anchor,  I  set  sail  again  towards  the 
lighthouse  of  St.  Valery-en-Caux, whose  flashes  rivalled 
those  of  the  reflected  moon. 

At  last  I  arrived  off  St.  Valery.  What  a  dreary 
place  it  looked  in  the  steely  dawn.  The  air  was  chill 
as  I  crossed  the  bar.  Piles  of  shingle  choked  the 
entrance,  and  at  one  point  left  the  channel  between 
the  jetties  only  about  fifteen  feet  wide.  But  it  was 
deep,  and  so  I  got  in. 

Not  a  soul  was  astir,  for  the  sun  had  not  yet  risen. 
Not  a  boat  to  be  seen.  A  drearier  welcome  could 
not  have  been  dreamed  of  I  climbed,  with  my  two 
warps,  up  the  ladder  to  the  top  of  the  quay  and 
made  them  fast. 

I  had  been  asleep  for  about  half-an-hour  when  I 

1 06 


f 


s. 


I  >i 


U     -4 


xiv         Dieppe  to  St.  Valery-en-Caiix 

was  aroused  by  a  knock  upon  the  cabin  door.  The 
person  who  had  done  the  knocking,  pointed  upwards 
to  where  an  elderly  gentleman  with  a  gold-braided 
cap  and  a  walking  stick  was  standing.  "  We  are  just 
about  to  open  the  sluice,"  he  said  in  French,  as 
without  further  ceremony  he  threw  down  a  thick 
rope. 

I  was  half  asleep  and  inclined  to  be  angry,  but  the 
word  "  sluice  "  woke  me  up  with  a  jerk.  I  suddenly 
remembered  the  warning  contained  in  the  Sailing 
Diredlions  with  regard  to  this.  They  told  me  that 
"  the  channel  is  prevented  with  difficulty  from  entirely 
silting  up  by  sluicing  ;  "  that  "vessels  in  the  harbour 
should  be  placed  parallel  with  the  quay,  and  the 
moorings  watched  as  the  scouring  sluices  are  opened, 
for  the  rush  of  water  is  so  violent  as  to  undermine 
those  which  have  grounded  at  right  angles  or  diagon- 
ally to  its  direction." 

The  man  took  a  turn  round  the  bollard  with  a 
thick  rope  and  cleared  out,  crying  to  me  to  "  come 
ashore."  I  took  the  precaution  to  hitch  the  end  of 
the  rope  round  the  mast,  but  I  preferred  to  remain 
aboard,  where  I  awaited  the  onslaught  of  the  water. 

With  huge  hammers  the  bolts  that  held  the  sluic- 
ing gates  were  cast  adrift.  There  was  a  mad  rush  of 
water,  which  churned  up  the  filthy  bottom  of  the 
harbour  as  it  charged  at  me.  It  took  hold  of  the 
Mave  Rhoe  and  suddenly  with  a  giddy  reel  she 
was  lifted  sideways  away  from  the  quay,  and  the 
tightened  rope  slipped  offthe  bollard.     Then  followed 

107 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  xiv 

a  shock  as  it  again  stretched  tautly  from  the  mast 
where  it  held.  The  pressure  of  the  water,  thus  turned 
more  upon  her  side,  nearly  capsized  her,  but  grasping 
the  tiller  I  gave  it  a  sheer  and  kept  her  bows  to  the 
savage  rush.  If  I  had  not  remained  aboard  I  feel  sure 
she  would  have  been  filled  with  the  filthy  water. 

An  idea  of  the  force  of  this  sluicing  may  be 
gathered  when  it  is  realised  that  the  harbour  is  three 
acres  and  a  half  in  extent,  and  that  in  three  minutes 
the  sluice  raises  the  level  of  the  water  in  the  whole 
of  this  area  five  feet. 

This  efi^eftually  destroyed  all  notions  of  sleep,  so, 
instead  of  awaiting  the  visit  of  the  Douaniers^  I  stepped 
ashore.  I  was  bone  tired,  but  I  wished  to  be  miles 
away  from  my  little  cabin,  so  I  walked  through  the 
sunlit  streets  and  away  into  the  outskirts  of  the  town 
until  I  came  to  a  rope-walk,  where  thus  early  men 
were  making  ropes.  Walking  backwards  girthed 
with  swollen  belts  of  hemp,  which  the  spinning  line 
gathered  to  itself  as  they  receded,  they  philoso- 
phised, whilst  every  now  and  then  they  gave  the  rope 
that  scientific  little  jerk  which  would  hang  it  on  its 
proper  peg,  some  twenty  yards  away.  Rope-making 
is  a  pleasant  thing  to  see,  so  I  threw  myself  upon  a 
grassy  bank  and  watched.  I  must  have  fallen  asleep, 
for  I  suddenly  realised  that  the  rope-makers  no  longer 
philosophised.  Moreover  another  chara6ler  had  come 
upon  the  scene,  a  milkmaid,  whose  milk  cans,  slung 
from  her  shoulders,  were   off^ering    a   more   earnest 

resistance   than    the  maid    to    the    embraces   of  the 

1 08 


1  he  Sluice,  St.   J  'a/dry-en-  Caitx 


xiv         Dieppe  to  St.  Valery-en-Caux 

younger  rope-maker,  whose  belt  of  hemp  also  sadly 
interfered  with  his  love-affair.  The  elder  one  went 
on  with  his  rope-making  ;  surely  he  was  too  quaint  a 
personality  to  have  ever  kissed  a  half-resisting  lass  ; 
but  the  twinkle  in  his  eyes  left  me  doubtful. 


109 


CHAPTER  XV 

St.   Valery-en-Caux 

What  a  charming  little  place  this  St.  Valery  is  with 
its  thatched  and  moss-grown  cottages.  What  wild 
growth  of  flowers  there  is  ;  and,  as  though  the  little 
garden  patch  were  not  enough,  from  the  ridges  of  the 
cottage  roofs  wild  iris  grows  out  of  the  thatch. 
What  lovely  lanes  it  has,  and  what  quaint  run  of  line 
there  is  in  its  streets  where  the  slated  sides  of  ancient 
houses  lean  towards  each  other. 

There  are  many  old  houses  in  St.  Valery,  and  the 
one  a  little  beyond  the  bridge  between  the  floating 
docks  and  the  harbour  is  a  sixteenth-century  affair, 
which  visitors  flock  to  see.  It  is  known  as  Maison 
d' Henri  IF.  But  old  houses  are  to  be  expected  in  a 
place  whose  name  and  origin  dates  from  so  long  ago 
as  St.  Valery,  the  Picardy  Saint,  who,  we  are  told, 
dried  up  a  little  river  which  had  its  source  there,  be- 
cause it  was  the  cause  of  idolatry  in  the  inhabitants. 

There  is  little  of  the  town  to  be  seen  from  the  offing, 
for  it  is  situated  in  a  hollow  between  the  huge  cliffs 
that  border  the  sea  hereabouts.  And  what  is  to  be  seen 
is  most  uninviting.  But  should  you  arrive  there  by 
train  you  will  be  greeted  at  the  station  by  the  scent 


XV  St.  Valery-e?i-Caux 

of  its  roses,  and  the  ferns  and  palms  growing  upon  the 
platform  will  wave  you  a  pleasant  welcome.  By  the 
time  you  have  walked  along  the  bank  of  the  floating 
dock  with  its  overhanging  trees,  you  will  begin  to 
realise  the  charm  of  the  place.  Soon  you  will  come 
to  the  elegant  but  comfortable  and  not  ultra-modern 


tivii. 


V 


'>>-^ 
X:"-^ 


:<N( 


■X, 


^^\^^^ 


'    K. 


Cottage  at  St.  Valery-en-Caux 


Hotel  de  la  Paix,  beyond  which  is  the  market-place. 
There  you  will  see  the  church,  but  it  will  not  interest 
you  so  much  as  the  innumerable  stalls  of  fruit,  flowers, 
tinware,  and  haberdashery,  where  you  will  find  the 
pleasantest  of  tradespeople  you  could  wish  to  buy 
from. 

But  for  the  English  ship  and  one  or  two  hulks  in 
the  floating  dock  you  might  think  yourself  miles  from 
the  sea,  and  though  the  place  seems  like  an  agricul- 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  xv 

tural  town,  don't  forget  that  St.  Valery  sends  ships  to 
the  Newfoundland  fisheries.  Indeed,  should  a  man 
be  a  farmer,  his  brother  is  sure  to  be  a  sailor,  and  the 
hauling  cries  of  sailors  may  be  heard  mingling  with 
the  bleat  of  lamb,  the  cackle  of  fowl,  and  the  moo 
of  cow,  echoing  and  echoing  down  the  valley.  One 
would  think  St.  Valery  had  never  been  disturbed  by 
other  turmoil. 

The  natives  are  a  kindly  lot  of  folk,  and  such  as  I 
came  in  conta6t  with  were  almost  embarrassingly  de- 
sirous of  helping  me.  One  man,  a  shipbroker,  who 
spoke  excellent  English,  was  so  skilful  in  parrying  my 
excuses  for  declining  his  invitation  to  dine  with  him 
that  I  felt  uncomfortably  rude  when  I  at  last  con- 
vinced him  that  I  wished  to  be  excused. 

He  was  a  cafe  acquaintance.  Whilst  in  his  com- 
pany, I  happened  to  place  my  box  of  English  matches 
upon  the  table  and  they  remained  there,  until  presently 
a  gendarme  entered,  and  as  he  passed,  he  placed  his 
hand  upon  the  matches,  and  said  something  hastily 
to  me.  My  friend  came  to  the  rescue,  and  a  conver- 
sation, which  was  altogether  beyond  me,  followed. 
When  the  gendarme  passed  away,  the  shipbroker  ex- 
plained that  one  must  never  in  France  leave  foreign 
matches  upon  the  table  in  a  public  place.  I  don't 
know  what  dire  consequences  one  incurs  by  a  breach 
of  this  rule,  but  the  gendarme  looked  at  me  as  though 
he  had  caught  a  rabid  criminal  red-handed. 

My  friend  the  shipbroker  drank  absinthe,  and  his 
hand  shook  as  he  poured  the  water  over  the  sugar. 


112 


-'     ■    v-Vt.g^"''^-^V^-v 


Ai  S/.    l'ah:iy-i/i-Cau. 


XV  St.  Valery-  en-Caiix 

that  was  in  the  curious  spoon  used  for  the  purpose. 
I  loathe  the  smell  of  absinthe,  and  the  taste  to  me  is 
like  soapy  water  sweetened  unreasonably.  I  drank 
the  simple  cafe  noir  and  cognac,  which  is  in  France 
no  dissipation  even  in  the  morning.  The  brandy  is 
excellent  wherever  you  get  it,  and  together  with  the 
coffee  it  makes  an  excellent  stimulant.  Whilst  sitting 
here,  the  yacht's  mast  could  be  seen  through  the 
window,  gradually  rising  with  the  incoming  tide. 

The  little  maid-of-all-work  was  busy  swilling  the 
tiled  floor  of  the  cafe.  The  swish  of  her  broom,  the 
clatter  of  her  pattens,  and  the  little  French  song  she 
sang  were  cheerful  sounds  to  listen  to,  and  to  speak  my 
own  language  was  a  pleasurable  change  from  the  diffi- 
culty of  expressing  myself  with  so  small  a  vocabulary 
as  I  possessed  in  French.  At  last  I  parted  from  my 
friend  and  set  to  work  to  sketch  one  of  the  streets 
which  had  attracted  me  as  a  subje6l. 

There  was  a  butcher's  shop  quite  near  where  I  sat. 
What  a  many  "  Bon  jours  "  I  heard  !  What  chopping 
of  meat,  and  what  vivacious  little  conversations  be- 
tween the  butcher  and  his  customers. 

It  was  very  cold,  and  then  soon  it  began  to  rain  ; 
luckily  I  had  my  oilskin  with  me.  At  last  I  was 
finishing  off  my  sketch,  when  the  little  maid-of-all- 
work  from  the  cafe  came  running  towards  me  ex- 
citedly. "  Pardon^  Monsieur — le  ynaitre  de  la  porte — 
votre  bateau.  Venez^  Monsieur^''  I  heard,  and  away 
she  ran.  I  followed,  wondering  what  was  happening 
to  the  boat.      I  found  a  crowd  upon  the  edge  of  the 

113  H 


From  the  Tha^nes  to  the  Seine  xv 

quay,  from  beyond  which  the  mast  could  be  seen. 
Whatever  was  the  matter,  I  wondered.  There  was 
the  portly  old  gentleman,  who  had  thrown  me  the 
rope  when  I  first  arrived.  "  Are  you  going  to  sea,  or 
are  you  going  into  dock  ?  "  he  asked.  "  You  cannot 
stop  here,  your  yacht  may  be  damaged,"  he  added, 
together  with  more  that  I  did  not  understand.  Then 
the  welcome  sound  of  good  old  English  came  from 
somewhere  out  of  the  crowd,  and  another  portly  per- 
sonage was  addressing  me.  Had  he  not  apologised 
first  for  addressing  me  I  should  have  mistaken  him  for 
an  Englishman.  However,  he  explained  that  the 
harbour-master  had  gone  to  a  lot  of  trouble  trying 
to  find  me,  and  that  if  I  wanted  to  go  into  dock,  I 
had  only  five  minutes  before  they  closed  the  dock- 
gates.  I  had  not  thought  of  going  into  dock,  because 
I  intended  getting  away  shortly  before  low-water,  but 
as  I  had  had  very  little  sleep,  I  decided  to  take  advan- 
tage of  the  dock.  There  were  many  offers  to  track 
me  in,  but  I  hate  that  mode  of  propulsion,  it  looks 
undignified  from  a  sailorman's  point  of  view,  so  I  set 
the  jib  and  sailed  in.  Two  French  yachts,  one  about 
fifteen  tons  the  other  of  about  twenty,  were  waiting 
to  go  in.  We  all  went  in  together  with  a  little  crowd 
of  curious  visitors  and  natives  lining  the  sides  of  the 
dock  entrance  as  we  passed  through. 

I  asked  permission  to  warp  alongside  the  English 
ship.      She  was  from  Fowey. 

The  mate  leaned  over  the  side  grimy  with  coal 

dust.     "  Where  might  you  have  sprung  from,  sir  .?  " 

114 


XV  S^,  Valery-en-Caux 

he  asked,  and  when  I  repUed  "  Hammersmith,"  I 
was  pleased  to  find  he  expressed  no  surprise  ;  he  merely 
said,  "  You  have  got  a  pretty  little  packet.  I  reckon 
she's  a  pretty  good  sea-boat.  She  looks  as  if  a 
scrub  down  wouldn't  hurt  her.  You've  had  it  pretty 
bad,  haven't  you  ?  " 

This  was  far  nicer  than  the  usual  surprise  and 
comment  as  to  the  wisdom  of  having  done  it,  such 
as  one  invariably  gets  from  yacht  hands  under  similar 
circumstances. 

"  You  haven't  got  any  English  bacca  aboard,  have 
you,  sir  t  This  'ere  French  stufFs  simply  putrid,  and 
they  wouldn't  allow  us  to  bring  in  more'n  a  pound." 

I  had  long  since  exhausted  my  stock,  but  I  had  two 
English  cigarettes,  for  which  he  thanked  me  heartily. 

I  rather  like  French  cigarettes  myself,  but  I  can 
well  understand  such  a  man  as  the  mate  sneering  at 
most  things  French,  and  the  tobacco  particularly. 

In  the  rigging  of  the  ship  was  stretched  a  large 
white  sheet  with  printed  matter  upon  it  to  the  effe6l 
that  coal  could  be  purchased  from  the  ship  at  i6 
francs  per  ton.  This  is  how  St.  Valery  gets  its  coal. 
Sometimes  a  cargo  is  sold  to  an  agent,  but  usually  the 
coal  is  sold  direft  from  the  ship  to  the  customer,  who 
carts  it  away  at  his  own  expense. 

By  now  the  day  had  settled  down  to  one  of  soaking 
rain.  It  rained  in  sheets  until  six  in  the  evening, 
when  I  took  a  stroll  along  the  lanes  amongst  the 
pretty  thatched  cottages  with  their  wood  and  plaster 
sides.     Many  of  these  were  quite  primitive  in  the 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  xv 

matter  of  communication  with  the  upper  rooms. 
Taking  the  place  of  a  staircase,  there  was  a  ladder 
outside  which  is  drawn  up  and  stowed  inside  the 
bedroom  when  the  cottagers  retire  for  the  night. 
What  dear  old  wrinkled  dames  I  saw  at  the  doorways, 
with  their  neat  little  white  caps  and  their  black  sabots  ; 
each  one  was  quite  part  of  her  little  homestead,  and 
rightly  so,  for  did  she  not  wear  the  same  sort  of 
costume  that  her  great-great-great-grandmother  wore 
when  the  little  cot  was  built. 

There  were  little  orchards  the  trees  of  which  were 
hung  with  cider  apples,  and  near  each  doorway,  green 
with  age  and  moss-grown,  stood  a  pidluresque  old 
winch  above  the  water  well.  What  dear  old  tumbled- 
down  barns  1  came  across  whose  timbers,  bent  with 
age,  had  sheltered  many  crops.  All  situated  in  a 
well-wooded  valley  where  the  simple  rattle  of  a  milk 
pail  is  fairy  music  and  the  tune  of  whistling  farm  lad 
is  that  of  the  magic  flute.  I  took  a  path  that  led  me 
across  the  grass-grown  railway  and  past  more  cottages. 
I  ascended  the  other  side  of  the  valley  until  I  looked 
down  upon  the  sodden  trees. 

Presently  I  returned  to  the  town  and  walked  to  the 
end  of  one  of  the  jetties.  For  a  mile  the  surf  was 
stained  with  the  black  and  filthy  waters  of  the  har- 
bour, for  the  sluicing  had  lately  been  performed.  It 
was  a  desolate  scene  and  the  sea  looked  savage,  and  the 
distant  figures  of  returning  shrimpers  upon  the  beach 
served  but  to  emphasise  the  loneliness  of  the  coast 
and  the  unwelcoming  height  of  the  sheer  white  cliffs. 

ii6 


XV  St.  Valery-en-Caux 

I  dined  at  a  little  cafe  in  the  market  square,  for  I 
was  out  of  love  with  my  own  cooking  ;  moreover  I 
had  decided  to  sample  the  round  of  pleasure  at  the 
casino,  and  I  must  prepare  myself  with  a  good  meal 
and  a  bottle  of  wine.  At  the  cafe  Madame  played 
draughts  with  one  of  her  customers  amid  wild  en- 
thusiasm from  the  onlookers.  What  simple  lives 
these  people  lead,  how  happy  they  are.  Is  it,  1  wonder, 
because  they  are  so  enthusiastic  t 

For  I  franc  50  centimes  1  was  allowed  to  make  the 
turnstile  click  and  enter  the  casino,  see  the  gaming, 
and  listen  to  the  concert. 

The  wild  pleasures  I  had  expelled  to  find  were  in 
reality  about  as  full  of  gaiety  as  the  joys  of  a  tin  chapel 
on  a  rainy  afternoon. 

Nowhere  have  I  seen  such  a  fine  colleftion  of 
rather  well-to-do  old  ladies  as  I  saw  listening  to  the 
string  band  whose  efforts  entirely  filled  the  pro- 
gramme ;  nowhere  such  plain  young  ladies.  I  met 
here  the  portly  person  whom  1  had  nearly  mistaken 
for  an  Englishman.  I  mentioned  this  fact  about  the 
young  ladies,  and  he  hastened  to  explain  that  the 
French  ladies  seldom  ventured  out  in  rainy  weather, 
but  if  they  did,  they  wore  most  "  frumpy  clothes." 
I  thought  of  our  tailor-made  girls  at  home,  and — well, 
I  was  glad  I  was  an  Englishman. 

Presently   the  band  stopped   its  tortures  and   the 

whole  crowd  arose  and  strolled  into  the  gaming  salon, 

for  all  the  world  like  the  letting  out  of  church. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  life  in  the  place.     Even  the 

117 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  xv 

petits  chevaux  excited  no  interest  ;  and,  despite  the 
frantic  whippings  the  Httle  jockeys  were  giving  their 
steeds,  these  occasionally  stopped  their  circular  race 
and  remained  idle,  until  a  casual  franc  thrown  upon 
the  table  started  them  off  again.  "  '^en  tie  va  plus^' 
for  tenpence. 

Presently  I  began  to  weigh  the  casino  and  my  bunk 
in  the  balance,  and  the  bunk  won. 

Directly  I  stepped  aboard  the  deck  of  the  ship  to 
get  aboard  the  yacht,  there  was  a  fierce  growl  and  the 
ship's  dog  flew  at  me.  Luckily  he  recognised  my 
voice,  for  when  I  spoke  to  him,  he  quieted  down  and 
wagged  his  tail.  It  was  rather  a  startling  experience  ; 
and,  but  for  the  intelligence  of  the  animal,  one  which 
might  have  been  distinctly  unpleasant. 

The  following  morning  I  had  intended  going  to 
Veules,  but  I  could  not  spare  the  time  that  would  be 
wasted  on  the  journey,  there  being  no  means  of  getting 
there  save  by  private  conveyance  or  by  an  omnibus. 
I  understand  it  is  a  charming  little  place  of  a  some- 
what superior  class.  It  is  a  modest  bathing-place, 
full  of  propriety,  and  it  is  visited  by  many  refined 
English  families  annually.  It  has  a  casino  and  bath- 
ing establishment.  Veules-le-roses,  as  it  is  called,  is 
in  summer-time  a  paradise  of  blossoms  and  delicate 
scent. 

I  paid  my  respects  to  the  old  harbour-master  and 
arranged  about  leaving  the  dock.  The  two  French 
yachts  were  going  out  of  dock  by  the  same  tide. 
These  were  working  to  the  dock-gates.     I   got  my 

ii8 


XV  &.  Valery-en-Caux 


sails  up,  for  in  spite  of  the  fluky  head  wind  it  would 
be  easier  for  me,  being  single-handed,  to  sail  out.  I 
gave  them  plenty  of  time  to  get  through,  but  they 
were  so  slow  about  it,  that  I  had  to  turn  tail  and  sail 
up  again.  This  annoyed  the  harbour-master,  and 
when  I  got  caught  aback  after  one  of  his  men  had 
failed  to  catch  the  line  I  threw,  he  fairly  shrieked  at 
me,  and  ordered  the  bridge  to  be  closed.  I  thought 
he  was  going  to  shut  the  dock-gates  also  and  keep  me 
there  ;  the  waste  of  time  this  would  mean  appalled 
me.  I  begged  of  him  not  to  shut  me  in,  and  whether 
my  appeal  influenced  him  or  not,  he  shouted,  "  You 
wait  some  time,  you  English  are  a  great  pig-head 
always."  However,  I  was  through  about  fifteen 
minutes  later.  The  two  yachts  had  not  ventured  out, 
and  indeed  I  was  rather  glad  I  had  a  reef  down  when 
I  saw  the  sea  outside.  One  of  them  shouted  to  me 
in  English,  "  We  not  go.  Too  much  plenty  vind. 
You  will  get  very  wet." 

They  walked  along  the  quay,  keeping  with  me  as  I 
slowly  tacked  out  of  the  narrow  harbour.  I  got  into 
my  oily,  prepared  for  a  dousing  as  I  crossed  the  bar, 
but  the  going  was  quite  comfortable,  and  before  I  got 
out  of  sight  of  the  crowd  upon  the  jetty,  I  took  off 
my  oily  and  let  the  boat  sail  by  herself  while  I  shook 
out  the  reef. 

I  think  a  place  that  can  appeal  to  one  in  wet 
weather  is  worth  revisiting,  and  I  hope  to  go  to  St. 
Valery-en-Caux  again. 

119 


CHAPTER   XVI 

St.   Valery-en-Caux  to   Le   Havre 
passing  Fecamp  and   Etretat 

aAugust  i^rd. — By  11.30  a.m.  I  had  cleared  the  piers 
intending  to  put  in  at  Fecamp,  but,  once  outside,  I 
was  bowHng  along  at  such  a  rate  that  it  seemed  too 
good  a  wind  to  waste  ;  moreover  I  could  lay  the 
course,  and  once  round  Cape  d'Antifer,  where  the 
coast  takes  a  sharp  bend,  I  should  have  the  wind  aft. 

Forty  miles  seemed  a  long  stretch,  but  if  only  the 
wind  lasted  it  would  be  possible  to  do  it,  and  catch 
the  tide  from  Cape  La  Heve  to  Le  Havre.  If  I  failed 
from  lack  of  wind  it  would  only  mean  a  night  out  at 
sea  ;  and  a  night  at  sea  with  little  wind  is  as  comfort- 
able and  safe  as  being  in  port,  if  one  can  find  a  shoal 
to  anchor  on. 

Passing  along  the  coast,  quite  near  in,  afforded  a 
feast  of  beautiful  cliff  scenery.  The  earth  is  a  bril- 
liant red  hereabouts,  and  where  the  rain  has  carried  it 
down  the  sides  of  the  cliffs  it  has  a  curious  effedl. 
The  strata  in  many  places  appear  from  the  sea  to  look 
like  the  regular  seams  of  masonry,  so  level  are  the 
layers  and  so  evenly  are  they  placed.     This  curious 


120 


xvi      aSV.  Valery-en-Caux  to  Le  Havre 

bit  of  Nature's  handiwork  is  first  seen  upon  the  cliffs 
near  Fecamp  which  end  abruptly  with  Fagnet  Point. 

This  towering  cliff  rises  sheer  from  the  rocks  at  its 
feet,  as  though  Father  Time  had  cut  it  with  a  saw, 
and  borrowed  a  builder's  plumb-line  to  test  his  handi- 
work. At  the  top  of  this  great  mass  are  the  Church 
of  Notre-Dame  du  Salut  and  a  disused  lighthouse. 
The  two  jetties  and  some  vessels  entering  were  all  that 
one  could  see  of  Fecamp  from  here.  Soon,  however, 
from  behind  the  cliff,  the  town  came  into  view  ;  then 
the  cliff  looked  totally  different,  for  now  its  white 
side  sloped  gently  towards  the  town,  which  is  situated 
in  a  wide  valley.  What  a  pleasure  it  was  to  have 
a  slant  and  bowl  along  at  such  a  fine  rate  of  speed  as 
I  was  making  off  Fecamp. 

In  the  distance  ahead  could  be  seen  the  curious  cliff 
of  Etretat.  Hereabouts  the  scenery  is  so  strange  that 
one  might  well  be  excused  for  allowing  superstitious 
awe  to  fill  one.  What  effect  it  has  from  the  land  I 
know  not,  but  to  sail  along  this  bit  of  coast  is  most 
uncanny.  One  would  not  be  surprised  at  being  be- 
witched by  some  fairy  barque,  or  at  being  carried  off 
into  one  of  the  many  caverns  by  mermaids.  What  a 
background  it  would  be  for  a  representation  of  Perseus 
rescuing  Andromeda. 

How  the  huge  dragon  would  delight  in  the  rocks 
and  caves,  the  deep  caverns  and  the  deeps  below. 
One  expedls  to  find  the  Titan  chained  to  the  heights 
three  hundred  feet  above.  Upon  such  ashore  Danae 
and  her  babe  were  doubtless  cast,  and  into  such  places 


121 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seme         xvi 

as  this  little  bay  of  Etretat  boldly  sailed  the  Argonauts. 
No  coasts  could  have  a  stranger  distinction,  and  whilst 
such  mythical  superstition  is  suggested  by  its  weird 
appearance,  is  it  to  be  wondered  that  strange  tales  are 
woven  round  it  ? 

First  let  me  describe  the  scene.  Then  I  will  tell 
its  fairy  tales. 

From  the  sea  little  Etretat  is  lost  in  the  huge  masses 
about  it  ;  tucked  away  in  a  little  square  bay,  one 
would  not  think  it  was  a  distinctly  fashionable  sea 
bathing-place,  nevertheless  such  it  is  ;  and  since  the 
writings  of  Alphonse  Karr  gave  it  a  reputation,  it  is 
replete  with  a  fine  casino  and  all  that  goes  to  make 
a  modern  watering-place.  Upon  the  right  hand  look- 
ing from  the  sea  is  a  huge  cliff.  Upon  its  extreme 
top,  and  immediately  above  the  sea,  is  a  castle  ;  but  to 
be  truthful  this  is  a  sham  affair  placed  there  for  effeCt. 
At  the  foot  of  this  cliff  is  the  Porte  d'Aval,  a  huge 
archway  in  the  rock,  and  beyond,  sticking  out  of  the 
sea  to  a  height  of  200  feet  sheer,  is  the  isolated  rock 
L'Aiguille  d'Etretat,  which  has  the  appearance  of  a 
somewhat  battered  sugar-loaf  Farther  to  the  right 
is  a  larger  chasm,  called  La  Manneporte.  Upon  the 
left-hand  side  of  the  bay  there  is  another  cliff,  the 
Falaise  d'Amont,  in  whose  side  steps  are  cut,  so  that 
another  archway, the  Porte  d'Amont, maybe  reachedat 
low  water.  In  this  cliff  there  is  another  path  which 
leads  to  the  shore  down  a  short  tunnel  and  thence  by 
an  iron  ladder,  but  they  say  it  is  impassable  for  ladies. 

In  one  of  these  cliffs  is  La  Chambre  des  Demoiselles, 


n 


f 


* 


If 


xvi      Sf,  Valery-en-Caiix  to  Le  Havre 

the  scene  of  one  of  the  stories,  for  the  ancient  legend  has 
it  that  three  beautiful  sisters  were  carried  off  by  a  knight 
of  Filleville,  who  shut  them  up  therein.  This  gentle- 
man, who  had,  apparently,  a  fine  taste  in  many  things, 
offered  each  of  them  in  turn  his  love,  his  ox,  and  his 
ass,  and  all  that  was  his,  but  his  persuasive  powers 
were  not  as  great  as  his  faculty  for  aptly  "  letting  the 
punishment  fit  the  crime,"  for  the  maids  would  have 
none  of  him,  and  refusing  to  yield  to  his  threats,  he 
placed  them  in  a  barrel  lined  with  spikes,  and  rolled 
them  over  the  cliff  where  their  spirits  still  float  about 
in  the  evening  when  the  moon  and  the  wind  are  in 
the  right  quarter — the  natives,  however,  hasten  to  tell 
you  that  the  apparitions  are  quite  harmless. 

At  the  end  of  another  cliff  is  La  Roche  de  Sainte 
Olive.  There  is  a  hidden  spring  in  this  rock  where 
a  poor  woman  of  that  name,  busy  with  her  washing, 
was  surrounded  by  pirates,  and  being  about  to  be 
carried  off  by  them,  she  vowed  a  chapel,  should  God 
in  His  mercy  deliver  her  from  their  hands  ;  and  God 
in  His  mercy  caused  a  great  wind  to  come,  which 
drove  the  boats  of  the  pirates  to  sea. 

I  could  have  wished  the  washerwoman  were  a 
beautiful  princess,  but  the  story  would  perhaps  then 
not  have  contained  such  a  sense  of  truth. 

I  sailed  close  inshore,  for  it  was  a  feast  of  strange 
coast,  such  as  I  had  never  seen  before. 

In  my  endeavour  to  keep  near  in,  I  had  forgotten 
the  great  eddy,  named  by  local  mariners  the  Hardiers, 
and  soon  I  was  tossing  and  tumbling  in  its  grip,  for 

123 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine         xvi 

the  steep  waves  that  it  causes  extend  for  a  mile  out 
to  sea.  I  made  slow  progress  through  this  boil  of 
sea,  the  now  light  wind  being  shaken  out  of  my  sails. 

However,  presently  clear  of  this  eddy,  I  was  gliding 
along  the  edge  of  bluff  Cape  d'Antifer,  whose  light- 
house, towering  394  feet  above,can,  in  clear  weather,  be 
seen  from  a  distance  of  twenty-seven  miles  seawards. 

The  sun  was  pouring  its  warm  rays  upon  this  huge 
height,  and  the  blue  shadows  under  its  projections 
caught  reflections  of  light  from  the  waves  below,  the 
sea-birds,  looking  like  little  white  powder  specks,  flew 
lazily  past  its  brown  sides,  and  their  blue  shadows 
followed  them  along  its  surface.  There  was  a  gentle 
murmur  of  surf,  and  I  could  hear  the  voices  of  some 
people  who  were  upon  the  top  of  the  cliff  above. 
What  a  little  affair  my  craft  would  appear  to  them 
as  they  gazed  upon  her,  set  in  the  wide  expanse  of 
sea  that  would  be  spread  before  them. 

I  had  very  little  wind,  the  water  was  like  oil,  and 
the  sails  hung  limp.  From  here  the  coast  consists 
of  earth-cliffs  unvarying  in  height  and  extending  in 
an  almost  unbroken  straight  line  with  scarcely  a  sign 
of  human  habitation  anywhere.  Indeed  so  mono- 
tonous was  this  long  stretch  of  ugly  coast  that  I 
seemed  to  be  spending  years  in  creeping  past  it.  At 
last  Cape  La  Heve  hove  in  sight,  and  beyond  was 
the  mouth  of  the  Seine.  Still  farther  in  the  distance 
a  thin  fawn-coloured  haziness  was  the  high  land 
near  Trouville.  Ships  were  making  for  Le  Havre. 
Out  seawards  the  whistle  buoy  was  groaning.     The 

124 


xvi      &.  Valery-en-Caux  to  L,e  Havre 

bright  day  was  fading  as  I  rounded  the  headland, 
and  Le  Havre  came  in  sight. 

I  picked  up  the  Seine  tide  just  in  time  ;  it  took 
me  very  slowly  into  the  harbour,  and  the  red  light 
of  the  entrance  flashed  upon  my  sails  in  glowing 
welcome  at  8  p.m. 

Beyond  this,  the  many  lights  of  moving  ships  and 
those  of  the  town  were  a  confused  mass  of  sparkles. 
Big  ships  and  steamers  were  coming  and  going,  for 
Le  Havre  is  France's  second  port.  I  drifted  up  the 
Avant  Port. 

The  wind  had  gone  completely  ;  the  water,  dis- 
turbed only  by  the  passing  steamers,  reflected  the 
brightly  illuminated  shops  and  cafes  upon  the  quay 
in  wriggly  streaks.  I  was  too  tired  to  ship  the  oars, 
and  not  knowing  where  to  bring  up  I  let  her  drift 
towards  a  mass  of  rowing-boats  and  iishing-crafts 
that  were  moored  under  the  shadow  of  the  quay. 
At  last  I  saw  a  man  in  a  boat  ;  he  was  no  sailorman, 
and  so  useless,  but  the  inquiries  I  made  attrafted  the 
attention  of  two  men  upon  the  quay  and  soon  they 
were  rowing  towards  me.  Then  one  of  them  caught 
hold  of  a  line  and  towed  the  yacht,  whilst  the  other 
took  the  tiller.  Thus  we  headed  farther  up  the 
Avant  Port,  and,  turning  to  the  left,  brought  up  near 
the  entrance  of  the  Basin  du  Roi. 

Here  I  had  to  wait  until  it  was  time  to  open  the 
dock-gates,  the  two  men,  with  odd  little  winks  and 
cautionary  remarks,  began  to  stow  every  bit  of  loose 
gear,  so  that  the  dock  thieves  would  have  difficulty 

125 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Sei?te         xvi 

in  removing  it.  The  elder  of  the  two  seemed  to 
take  quite  a  paternal  interest  in  me,  he  would  not 
let  me  do  a  thing  for  myself,  and  I  believe  if  he  had 
had  his  own  way  about  it  he  would  have  tubbed  me. 

Soon  the  arc  lights  upon  the  tall  standards  near 
the  dock-gates  belched  their  flaring  gleams,  and  the 
gates  opened.  A  big  steam  yacht  with  a  large  cutter 
yacht  in  tow  came  slowly  out,  and  a  small  steam 
tramp  entered  afterwards,  from  whom  we  stole  a  tow 
through.  Then  I  found  that  the  two  men  had 
seledied  as  good  a  berth  for  me  as  I  need  wish  for — 
warped  alongside  one  of  the  big  pilot  boats. 

I  was  glad  to  step  ashore  once  more,  and  over  a 
drink  at  a  cafe  near  by  I  settled  with  the  men  for 
three  francs.  Not  a  big  charge  for  towing  the  yacht 
about  half  a  mile  and  relieving  me  of  the  work  of 
stowing,  and  of  cooking  a  meal. 


126 


CHAPTER    XVII 

Le   Havre  and   Harfleur 

How   the   personality  of  Francois  I    permeates   the 

history  of  the  places  upon  this  coast  !     But  for  him, 

Le  Havre  might  still  have  been  the  mere  appendage 

of  a   chapel    of  Notre-Dame-de-Grace,   which   was 

founded  by  Louis  XII  in  1509.      Its  name  then  was 

Havre-de-Grace.     Fran9ois,  however,  recognising  its 

advantageous  position,  fortified  it  in  15 16,  since  when 

its  harbour  grew  and  grew  in  importance,  until  now 

it  is  regarded  as  the  second  port  of  France.     In  1545 

he  assembled  here  a  fleet  of  176  ships  for  the  purpose 

of  attacking  England.     His  efforts  were  concentrated 

upon  the  Isle  of  Wight,  but  the  attack  was  ignom- 

iniously  repulsed.     Seventeen  years  later  the  town  was 

occupied  by  the  English  for  a  short  while.      Under 

Richelieu  and  Colbert  the  town  rapidly  grew,  and  as 

a  port  its  increasing  commerce  raised  the  jealousy  of 

the  English,  who,  in  1694,  made  a  determined  attack 

upon  the  town  ;  but  they  failed  to  effeft  their  designs, 

and  this  new  rival  of  English  commerce   went   on 

increasing   in   size   and   importance.      However,  the 

shipping  of  Havre  suffered  greatly  at  the  hands  of  the 

English  during  a  long  period.      Le  Havre  was  the 

127 


From  the  'Thames  to  the  Seine       xvii 

scene  of  the  capture,  in  1796,  of  Admiral  Sir  Sidney 
Smith,  who  was  taken  prisoner  whilst  attempting  to 
capture  a  French  vessel  under  the  very  muzzles  of 
the  guns  of  the  citadel. 

Its  history  thus  dates  as  comparatively  recent,  and 
the  principal  part  of  it  being  commercial,  people  are 
wont  to  speak  disrespe6lfully  of  Le  Havre,  which 
after  all  is  a  very  beautiful  place,  in  spite  of  its  ugly 
docks  and  the  commercial  aspect  portions  of  it  have. 
However,  nobody  will  find  it  so  interesting  as  to  agree 
with  Casimir  Delavigne,  who  said,  "  Apres  Constanti- 
nople^ il  n'est  rien  d'aussi  beau.^'' 

Doubtless  he  thought  only  of  the  extensive  view 
which  is  to  be  had  from  the  heights  of  Ingouville, 
reached  nowadays  by  cable  railway.  From  here  can 
be  seen  the  alluring  circle  of  the  Seine  and  the  sea, 
the  distant  hills  beyond  Trouville  and  Honfleur  ;  and 
nearer,  the  town  portioned  by  its  beautiful  boule- 
vards, the  docks,  the  fortifications,  the  ships,  and  the 
many  fishing-boats — all  of  which  help  to  make  a  very 
fine  panorama.  Indeed  Balzac,  in  Modeste  Mignon^ 
says,  "  Ingouville  est  au  Havre  ce  que  Montmartre  est  a 
'Paris''  The  view  should,  if  possible,  be  seen  at 
sunset,  and  when  the  lights  of  Trouville  begin  to 
glitter  at  the  other  side  of  the  bay. 

My  early  impression  of  Le  Havre  was  that  its 
boulevards  smacked  of  Paris  and  its  outskirts  of 
Sheerness.  This  was  before  I  had  ascended  to  the 
higher  suburbs  where  the  better  class  and  wealthy 
portions  of  the  population  reside,  whose  houses  com- 

128 


'J  he   Old.sl  llctis,:  i:;  Lc  Havr, 


xvii  L,e  Havre  and  Harjieur 

mand  the  view  just  described.  I  have  heard  some 
people  say  Le  Havre  is  all  docks,  "  smelly  "  streets, 
and  low  music  halls.  I  have  heard  others  say  that  it 
is  the  least  pleasurable  place  in  the  world.  This  last 
is  perhaps  true,  for  those  who  must  have  gay  casinos 
and  that  kind  of  entertainment,  for  which  one  has  to 
pay,  will  find  it  slow.  Havre  is  a  workaday  place, 
and  its  attempts  to  turn  itself  into  a  popular  watering- 
place  would  seem  to  have  failed.  The  casinos  are  as 
dull  as  I  found  the  one  at  St.  Valery-en-Caux.  There 
are  two  theatres.  The  Grand  in  the  Place  Gambetta 
and  The  Cirque  in  the  Boulevard  Strasbourg  ;  and 
there  is  a  music  hall  (cafe-concert).  The  Folies  Bergere, 
in  the  Rue  Lemaitre.  Then  there  is  the  wretched 
Grande  Brasserie  Nationale  in  the  Rue  de  Paris  where 
you  have  entre  libre  and  are  charged  fourpence  for  a 
bock.  Where,  should  you  arrive  as  I  did  at  the  hour 
appointed  for  the  commencement  of  the  entertain- 
ment, you  will  do  wrong  ;  it  seems  half-an-hour  is 
not  an  objeftionable  length  of  time  to  keep  the  audi- 
ence waiting.  One  might,  of  course,  expert  such  an 
entertainment  to  be  vulgar,  but  it  was  worse — the 
vulgarities  had  no  sort  of  technique  :  they  belonged 
to  neither  class  nor  nation.  I  have  been  in  similar 
places  in  England  where  under  the  singing  licence 
this  form  of  entertainment  is  provided  at  the  low 
"  pubs  "  of  certain  garrison  towns,  pro  bono  "  Tommy 
Atkins,"  but  nowhere  have  I  felt  such  lack  of  inte- 
rest.     Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  waited  a  little  longer 

than  the  two  or  three  turns  I  listened  to,  but  I  really 

129  I 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine       xvii 

couldn't.  I  don't  know  the  qualities  of  the  other 
places  of  amusement,  but  even  if  they  are  of  the  best 
they  would  not  make  Le  Havre  an  amusing  town  in 
this  sense. 

Look  upon  it  as  having  a  population  of  132,430 
souls,  and  think  of  the  6,242  vessels,  from  the  largest 
liner  to  the  mere  coasting  schooner,  which  upon  an 
average  enter  the  port  annually.  Look  at  those  mus- 
cular dockers,  watch  them  pouring  homeward,  think 
of  all  the  other  workers  that  ships  bring  in  their  train, 
and  you  will  find  Le  Havre  magnificent.  That  is  the 
point  of  view  from  which  the  town  should  be  seen, 
and  the  best  entertainment  it  can  ever  give  is  the  sight 
of  a  people  doing  its  daily  round. 

If  you  are  trafficking  in  experiences  and  probing  into 
chara6lers  as  I  was,  you  will  enter,  say,  at  4  a.m.  any 
one  of  the  many  cafes  which  are  about  the  quays  of 
the  docks  ;  you  will  find  Monsieur  agreeable,  and, 
because  he  has  that  breadth  of  view  which  never  per- 
mitted him  to  hesitate  about  so  trifling  a  matter  as 
the  robbing  of  a  drunken  sailor,  you  will  not  hate  him. 
The  hag  who  enters  into  the  conversation — be  sure 
her  intentions  towards  you  are  not  all  they  seem. 
Just  as  the  pi6ture  postcards  which  she  first  shows  you 
are  harmless,  the  piece  de  resistance  finally  exposed  will 
disgust  you.  You  will  take  both  cafe  noir  and  cognac 
separately  ;  and,  if  the  latter  is  not  to  your  liking, 
which,  of  course,  you  will  not  let  it  be,  at  that  hour. 
Monsieur    will  either    have   no    further    interest   in 

you,    or    the    game    will    be    thrown    up  ;     he    will 

130 


Sketches  at  h  Havre 


xvii  Le  Havre  and  Har/leur 

puzzle  over  your  patchy  French,  and  you  may  learn 
much. 

However  like  those  of  Paris  the  boulevards  of  Le 
Havre  may  be  by  day,  their  effeft  by  night  is  totally 
different  ;  you  will  find  none  of  that  sparkle  of  colour, 
that  Chinese-lantern-like  glow,  of  Paris  by  night.  The 
streets  are  sombre  then,  and  from  away  in  the  distance, 
the  flashes  of  La  Heve  lighthouse  striping  the  sky 
above  the  housetops,  serve  only  to  enforce  this  effedt. 
One  wonders  what  Le  Havre  does  with  itself  at  night. 

Its  shops  are  good  in  places,  but  those  of  the  Rue 
de  Paris  (which  I  suppose  is  the  principal  shopping 
street)  are  very  tawdry.  No  doubt  the  ladies  run  over 
to  Trouville  for  their  chic  hats  and  the  latest  thing  in 
frocks. 

The  Rue  de  Paris  leads  into  the  Place  Gambetta, 
where  are  statues  erected  to  the  memory  of  St.  Pierre, 
author  of  "  Paul  and  Virginia,"  and  Casimir  Dela- 
vigne,  the  dramatist,  both  of  whom  were  natives  of 
Le  Havre.  From  this  square  can  be  seen  one  of  the 
most  elegant  effefts.  There,  towering  apparently  out 
of  the  very  square  itself,  are  huge  steam  yachts  and 
the  tall  masts  of  big  sailing  yachts  gleaming  in  the 
sunshine  ;  and  some  you  will  see  airing  their  sails,  the 
huge  spread  of  beautiful  clean  canvas  showing  upon 
a  background  of  the  white  houses  which  fringe  the 
Bassin  du  Commerce,  where  yachts  always  lie.  Such 
elegant  patterns  do  these  houses  make,  with  their 
chimneys  and  waterspouts,  their  shuttered  windows 
and  their  irregularity  of  parallel  lines,  that,  together 

131 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine       xvii 

with  the  glitter  of  brass-work,  the  gleam  of  white 
paint,  and  the  rich  glow  of  the  polished  mahogany  of 
the  yachts,  one  could  not  wish  to  see  a  finer  effedl. 

I  was  gazing  at  these  yachts  when  I  became  con- 
scious that  some  one  was  addressing  me  from  the  deck 
of  a  yacht  of  about  thirty  tons,  which  had  the  blue 
ensign  at  her  taffrail.  It  was  the  skipper  who  was 
hailing  me,  as  he  sat  in  his  shirt  sleeves  comfortably 
sunning  himself  in  a  deck-chair. 

"  Is  that  your  little  yacht  in  the  next  dock  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied.  "  How  long  have  you  been  here  ? " 

"  Three  weeks,"  he  answered.  "  Where  did  you 
come  from  ?  " 

"  London,"  I  said,  wondering  how  long  this  volley 
of  questions  and  answers  was  going  to  last. 

"  You  ought  to  tell  your  hand  to  stop  aboard  her 
when  you're  away,"  he  cautioned  ;  and  when  I  ex- 
plained that  I  had  no  hand  he  exclaimed,  "  What  ! 
You've  come  here  alone  ?  "  (a  pause)  "  'Ere,  I'll  tell 
you  what  you  are,  you're  one  of  them  suicidal  maniacs. 
I'd  'ave  all  of  you  locked  up."  His  face  then  assumed 
an  expression  calculated  to  represent  scathing  sarcasm, 
and  in  his  apparent  wrath  he  even  arose  from  his 
sprawling  attitude  upon  the  deck-chair  as  he  added, 
"  I  suppose  you're  going  to  write  a  book  about  it — 
'  All  the  way  from  London  in  a  small  yacht.'  Are 
you  going  to  have  her  taken  back  by  steamer  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  I  answered.  "  But  I'll  tell  you 
this,  I  should  never  have  got  here  if  I'd  had  you 

132 


xvii  L,e  Havre  and  Harjleur 

with  me,"  and  we  parted  as  he  shouted  after  me  "  No, 
you  wouldn't  ;   I'll  give  you  my  word  about  that." 

He  was  so  amusingly  excellent — as  a  specimen  of 
the  paid  hand — that  I  felt  no  anger  at  his  imperti- 
nence. And  who  could  blame  him  for  holding  such 
views  about  people  who  sail  their  own  boats  .?  Who 
could  blame  him  for  sitting  there  sunning  himself? 
And  though  such  a  man,  should  he  find  himself  aboard 
a  tea-clipper,  would  probably  die  of  a  broken  heart 
before  he  rounded  the  Horn,  one  must  remember 
that  probably  his  owner  likes  to  sail  when  skies  are 
blue,  and  prefers  him  to  have  a  cautious  rather  than 
a  sporting  disposition. 

It  is,  of  course,  not  to  be  supposed  that  paid  hands 
are  all  alike  ;  there  are  some  who  really  are  sportsmen 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  they  are  paid,  and  in  many 
cases  men  are  spoilt  by  their  owners.  It  is  not  every 
owner  of  a  yacht  that  has  the  courage  to  make  his 
skipper  put  to  sea  against  his  advice.  I  know  of  one 
instance,  however,  where  an  East  Coast  owner  of  a  52- 
footer  met  the  objeftions  of  his  crew  by  ordering  them 
at  once  tO'  sea  (he  was  his  own  skipper),  and  he  kept 
them  beating  about  the  North  Sea  in  half  a  gale  of 
wind  for  a  week  under  storm  trysail.  That  licked  his 
crew  into  shape,  and  no  vessel  was  raced  more  success- 
fully, and  he  had  less  hands  aboard  than  those  of  the 
other  boats  of  the  class.  It  requires  a  lot  of  courage 
to  do  a  thing  like  that,  and  few  owners  would  relish 
the  wildness  of  such  a  week  ;  but  if  owners  were  even 
a  little  more  like  this  they  would  have  fewer  complaints 

133 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine        xvii 

to  make  about  their  crews,  and  big  yachts  would  not 
fear  to  face  what  little  ones  go  through,  especially 
those  little  ones  that  are  skippered  by  their  owners. 

I  continued  my  stroll  through  the  streets  until  I 
came  to  the  Public  Gardens  of  the  Place  Hotel  de 
Ville,  in  the  shade  of  which  the  town-folk  sit,  and 
where  stout  nursemaids  were  flirting  (as  always)  with 
those  of  the  culotte  rouge.  Pleasant  little  flecks  of  sun- 
shine were  scattered  over  them,  like  golden  tinselled 
tapestry,  until  it  became  a  game  of  hide-and-seek  to 
find  the  fafts  of  the  scene. 

The  rattling,  tooting  trams  of  the  Rue  Strasbourg 
reminded  me  that  I  had  promised  myself  a  tram  ride 
to  Harfleur,  to  see  the  old  town.  Long  before  Le 
Havre  was  dreamed  of  it  was  a  considerable  port, 
which  flourished  until  quite  recently,  and  whose 
harbour  is  now  silted  up  by  the  deposits  of  the  Legarde. 
I  also  wanted  to  see  the  Tancarville  Canal,  where 
ships  save  themselves  the  encounter  with  the  barre 
of  the  Seine,  and  where,  with  a  fair  wind,  they  sail 
to  all  appearances  upon  dry  land.  I  imagined 
there  would  be  a  good  pi6lure  to  be  got  out  of  its 
vicinity. 

Havre  is  well  served  with  trams,  and  its  suburbs 
may  be  reached  in  this  way.  The  tram  for  Harfleur 
starts  from  near  the  station.  I  jumped  aboard  and 
was  whisked  along  through  narrow  and  very  squalid 
streets,  until  the  route  began  to  rise  and  fall  in  a 
series  of  hills  and  dales  and  the  country  opened  a  little. 
One  catches  sight  here  and  there  of  the  wooded  cliffs 

134 


'M 

n 

1* 

/ 

% 

r 


xvii  Le  Havre  and  Harfleur 

that  were  once  washed  by  the  sea,  and  are  now  two 
miles  or  so  inland. 

Presently  the  conductor  touched  me  upon  the 
shoulder, exclaimed  ''''Harjieur ^Monsieur  !  "  and  I  found 
myself  walking  through  the  somewhat  uninteresting 
streets,  until  presently  I  came  across  a  bridge  over  a 
little  stream.  Its  course  showed  no  indication  of  the 
nearness  of  bulrushed  banks,  for  it  washed  along  the 
sides  of  houses  hereabouts.  However,  a  narrow  street 
running  parallel  to  it  led  me  to  where  the  stream 
suddenly  left  the  town  and  flowed  by  grassy  banks 
where  willow  bush  and  wild  foxglove  fringed  its  clear 
waters.  Little  bungalows  were  built  along  the  stream. 
Some  of  these,  the  more  modern  ones  especially,  were 
remarkable  for  most  awful  "  new  art "  architefture. 
They  were  mostly  faced  with  cement,  and  this  was 
moulded  in  high  relief  in  representation  of  trees 
growing  upon  the  walls  ;  the  corners  were  supported 
by  these  hideous  representations  in  a  stupid  mixture 
of  treatment,  realism  being  united  with  the  pure  con- 
ventionality of  decoration  in  a  really  terrible  disregard 
for  taste. 

I  had  evidently  dropped  upon  the  Upper  Thames 
of  Le  Havre,  for  skiffs  were  moored  to  the  little  land- 
ing-stages, just  in  our  up-river  fashion.  Small  sailing- 
boats  were  there,  and  a  sailing  club.  Here  was  an 
ideal  little  place  for  rowing  men,  with  a  streamless 
pull  all  the  way  to  Tancarville  and  back. 

I  walked  along  the  banks  until  I  came  to  a  square 
surrounded  by  trees,  in  the  centre  of  which  stood  a 

135 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine        xvii 

statue,  which  represents  Grouchy.  I  think  I  have 
never  seen  such  a  fearfully  bad  piece  of  work.  The 
head  is  about  two  sizes  too  big  for  the  body  and  the 
attitude  is  awful.  He  wields  a  sword,  and  the  whole 
is  so  ridiculous  that  it  suggests  that  Grouchy  is  taking 
careful  aim  before  slashing  down,  with  one  fell 
"  swipe,"  the  surrounding  trees.  Pursuing  my  walk 
along  the  bank  I  presently  came  to  a  wider  waterway, 
and  this  was  the  Tancarville  Canal.  I  was  dis- 
appointed with  it.  I  had  expected  a  kind  of  effect 
such  as  one  gets  at  Rye  in  Sussex.  But  here  the 
reclaimed  land  was  made  ugly  by  the  market  gardens, 
and  but  for  the  long  perspe6tive  of  wooded  cliffs, 
stretching  away  until  they  were  lost  in  the  leaden 
atmosphere,  the  sense  of  distance  which  flat  lands 
usually  convey  would  have  been  lost. 

The  jerry-builder  is  ramming  up  rows  of  houses 
in  this  district,  and  no  doubt  the  crumbly  perspeftives 
of  nature  will  soon  give  place  to  the  severer  ones  of 
bricks  and  mortar. 

The  tram  in  which  I  returned  to  Havre  was  filled 
with  the  returning  workers  ;  they  carried  curious 
trowels  and  strange  carpentry  tools,  but  in  all  else 
save  their  language  they  were  like  our  English  workers, 
and  as  full  of  chaff  and  humour. 

Back  in  Havre  the  streets  were  streaming  with 
school  children.  All  were  dressed  in  their  very  best, 
for  the  schools  had  broken  up,  and  they  were  return- 
ing from  the  prize-giving,  laden  with  book  prizes, 
with  gold  emblazoned  scarlet  covers  ;  some  had  large 

136 


xvii  Le  Havre  and  Harjleur 

piles  of  them,  but  no  child  carried  less  than  one  prize, 
which  said  much  for  the  generosity  of  the  State. 
Proud  mothers,  beaming  grandmammas,  happy  aunts, 
and  grown-up  sisters  and  cousins.  This  was  evi- 
dently as  great  a  day  for  them  as  it  was  for  the  little 
ones. 

The  weather  had  been  delightful  throughout  the 
day,  a  continuous  blaze  of  sunshine  had  shed  its 
warming  glow  ;  and  as  I  was  doing  justice  to  an 
excellent  dinner  whilst  sitting  outside  one  of  the 
cafes  in  the  Rue  Strasbourg,  the  sun  set,  rosy  and  in 
peace.  That  softening  haze,  which  bespoke  little 
wind  for  the  morrow,  was  mystifying  the  long  boule- 
vard, and  as  the  raw  lights  of  the  kiosks,  the  street- 
lamps,  and  those  of  the  tramcars  broke  through  the 
gathering  twilight,  I  pondered  on  the  momentous 
question  as  to  whether  or  not  I  should  get  out  of 
dock  at  midnight.  Should  I  sail  to  Trouville,  or  go 
by  the  steamer  across  the  Seine  in  the  morning  .? 
There  was  no  wind,  my  boat  was  safe  where  she  was, 
and  as  the  steamer  trip  had  everything  in  its  favour, 
I  decided  upon  the  steamer. 


137 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

Crossing  the  Seine,  and  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  Bore 

The  next  morning  I  stepped  aboard  the  paddle- 
steamer,  Le  Touques,  which  plies  four  times  daily 
between  Le  Havre  and  Trouville. 

Le  Havre  is  well  served  with  steamer  trips  ;  and 
the  excellent  one  made  aboard  the  Felix  Faure  to 
Rouen  should  be  done  by  all  who  have  the  oppor- 
tunity, for  the  beauty  of  the  Seine  is  remarkable. 

An  English-racing  yacht,  one  of  the  52-footers 
which  had  gone  out  of  dock  the  night  before,  was 
sailing  down  the  port  whilst  the  steamer  waited 
for  passengers.  Her  spotless  canvas,  through  which 
the  sun  glowed,  made  a  beautiful  picture  as  she 
threaded  her  way  to  sea. 

There  were  many  smart  people  aboard  the  steamer, 
but  I  couldn't  help  noticing  the  "  style  "  of  the  tailor- 
made  English  girl  with  the  green  jersey  and  the 
"  Burberry  "  hat  in  favourable  comparison  with  the 
betuckered,  untravelling-like  dresses  of  the  French- 
women. 

The  sea  was  like  a  duck-pond.     It  was  scattered 

X38 


xviii  Crossing  the  Seine 

with  crowds  of  fishing-boats,  above  which  the  tall 
sails  of  the  racing  yacht  towered  tremendously. 

The  mouth  of  the  Seine  is  choked  with  sand,  and 
in  this,  though  in  a  much  more  extensive  degree,  it 
resembles  the  estuary  of  the  Thames.  Swift  though 
the  tides  may  run  in  the  Thames,  they  are  far  swifter 
in  the  Seine,  and  this  river  is  pestered  with  an  alarm- 
ing bore  such  as  is  to  be  found  upon  the  Trent  and 
the  Severn  in  England,  though  the  rush  of  water  is 
in  these  two  rivers  nothing  compared  with  that  of 
the  Seine. 

This  bore  is  well  described  in  the  Admiralty  Sail- 
ing Dire6tions,  which  portly  volume  tells  us  that 
"  the  Bore,  called  by  the  French  Mascaret  or  Barre^ 
occurs  almost  invariably  every  spring-tide,  and  is 
especially  strong  about  the  time  of  the  equinoxes,  or 
with  high  spring-tides  from  any  cause  ;  it  is  highest 
with  easterly  winds  and  lowest  with  those  from  the 
westward,  and  as  the  wave  frequently  breaks  in  shoal- 
water,  small  decked  craft  unable  to  avoid  it  should  be 
battened  down  or  they  will  invariably  be  swamped. 

"  Let  us  suppose  that  this  phenomenon  is  about  to 
occur.  An  observer  stationed  at  Rille  lighthouse  a 
few  minutes  before  low  water,  springs,  and  looking 
towards  the  estuary,  would  see  the  bay  laid  dry  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach,  except  where  the  river,  flow- 
ing in  the  direction  of  Honfleur,  covered  a  breadth  of 
some  hundred  yards  between  banks  of  muddy  sand. 

"  The  ebb-stream  is  still  running  from  two  to  three 
knots,  but  its  speed  slackens  suddenly,  and  at  the  same 

139 


From  the  T'hames  to  the  Seine      xviii 

time  a  slight  surf  is  seen  at  a  distance  against  the  out- 
Hne  of  the  banks  ;  its  noise  is  heard  and  the  water 
invades  the  uncovered  places  very  rapidly.  An 
irregular  swell  (for  it  subsides  here  and  there)  ascends 
the  channel,  inclining  each  buoy  in  succession  and 
marking  the  course  of  the  flood-stream  which  has 
thus  suddenly  set  in.  It  penetrates  the  embanked 
part  of  the  river  ;  its  triple  or  quadruple  undulation 
becomes  immediately  more  marked  ;  the  level  rises 
visibly  ;  the  north  dyke  is  fringed  with  foam.  A 
moment  after,  on  its  passage  to  La  Roque  and  after- 
wards to  Radicatel,  waves  break,  especially  near  the 
right  bank.  Along  the  left  bank  there  is  scarcely 
any  agitation.  The  boats  of  Tancarville  and  Quille- 
bceuf  may  be  seen  resting  on  their  oars,  bows  on  to 
the  approaching  swell ;  they  rise  to  it,  turn  about 
when  it  has  passed,  and  descend  with  the  stream  ;  in 
this  manner  boats  in  that  part  of  the  river  take  the 
flood  ;  without  that  precaution  they  would  be  cap- 
sized. 

"  From  Quillebceuf,  looking  in  the  direction  of 
Radicatel,  the  river  is  broken  water  right  across,  the 
water  breaking  much  more  heavily  against  the  right 
bank  than  the  other,  doubtless  on  account  of  the  bend 
as  the  waves  rush  upon  it  obliquely  and  cover  the 
platform  of  the  dyke  with  their  spray.  The  mass 
of  water  reaches  Quillebceuf  before  the  agitation  of 
which  we  speak  is  at  an  end  at  Rille,  and  it  lasts  some 
minutes  longer,  calm  not  being  restored  until  the  Bore 

is  near  the  bend  of  Vieuxport. 

140 


xviii  Crossing  the  Seifte 

"  On  the  arrival  of  the  Bore  at  Quilleboeuf,  its 
height,  which  increases,  may  be  seven  or  eight  feet  ; 
that  is  to  say,  there  is  that  difference  of  level  between 
low  water  and  that  of  the  flood  which  rushes  up-stream 
in  this  torrent  ;  so  that  a  boat  in  front  would  see 
before  it  a  liquid  wall  approaching  and  capable  of 
engulfing  it.  The  waves  come  on  in  the  form  of  a 
crescent,  concave  towards  up-stream,  and  its  two  points 
breaking  furiously  along  the  banks.  Another  wave 
follows  at  about  two  hundred  yards,  then  a  third, 
and  a  fourth.  Then  appear  the  Eteii/es,  silent  waves 
of  a  very  dangerous  charafter,  up  to,  it  is  said,  six- 
teen feet  in  height,  but  subsiding  heavily  as  soon  as 
formed.  This  state  of  confusion  past,  the  river  flows 
steadily  on  ;  the  level  does  not  rise  more  than  an 
additional  three  feet,  although  the  rate  of  the  stream 
increases  to  seven  knots  and  more.  From  the  first 
appearance  of  the  Bore  until  calm  is  restored  after 
its  passage  up  the  river,  not  more  than  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  elapses. 

"The Bore  issometimesstill  higher  and  more  curious 
at  the  foot  of  St.  Leonard.  It  would  be  very  impru- 
dent for  any  small  vessel  to  be  caught  in  these  parts. 
It  subsides  very  remarkably  at  La  Corvette,  where 
ships,  which  on  account  of  their  draught  have  not 
been  able  to  put  to  sea,  await  it  at  anchor  ready  for 
weighing  and  swung  to  the  ebb,  for  there  is  no  slack 
water,  the  ebb  ceasing  only  with  the  flood,  the  chain 
ready  to  be  slipped  at  a  moment's  notice.      Each  vessel 

at  the  proper  moment  sets  the  engines  going  astern. 

141 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine      xviii 

Notwithstanding  this,  the  vessel  runs  ahead  and  com- 
mences swinging,  the  propeller  being  then  used  to 
avoid  the  banks.  Steam-vessels  getting  under  weigh 
before  the  Bore,  so  as  to  receive  it  head-on,  should 
meet  it  at  slow  speed,  plunging  into  the  waves.  Sail- 
ing vessels  in  tow  meet  it  in  this  manner  with  a  great 
length  of  tow-line. 

"  Continuing  its  course  up-stream,  the  Bore  passes 
abreast  of  Des  Flaques  with  the  same  violence  as  at 
St.  Leonard,  and  calms  down  in  the  deep  waters  of 
the  anchorage  of  La  Courbe  ;  a  little  farther  on,  how- 
ever, upon  the  Traverse,  it  breaks  out  afresh  from  one 
bank  to  the  other.  From  Villequier  it  may  be  seen 
white  with  foam,  the  tide  running  furiously,  leaping 
up  the  banks,  dragging  and  submerging  everything 
in  its  passage.  The  roar  of  the  approaching  Bore 
is  heard  from  a  great  distance  ;  at  Villequier,  it  has 
been  distinctly  heard  at  night  on  reaching  Aizier,  six 
miles  distant. 

"  At  Villequier,  boats  moor  near  the  lighthouse 
under  shelter  of  a  rocky  submarine  point,  behind 
which  the  water  is  relatively  calm  for  a  small  space. 
But  in  heavy  Bores  they  should  descend  as  far  as 
Courbe.  The  boats  of  Caudebec  shelter  as  well  as 
they  can  at  the  Dos  d'Ane  (Ass's  Back).  The  ap- 
pearance of  the  Bore  is  particularly  attractive  at 
Caudebec  as  the  waves,  coming  on  obliquely,  as  at 
Radicatel,  on  account  of  the  very  decided  concavity 
of  the  bank,  only  display  the  greater  vigour,  and  the 
water  recoiling  adds  to  the  disorder.     Tourists  come 

142 


xviii  Crossing  the  Seine 

here  in  crowds  to  view  the  scene,  especially  at  equi- 
noctial tides. 

"  At  La  Mailleraye,  three  miles  and  a  half  higher, 
the  Bore  loses  much  of  its  force  owing  to  the  bank 
Les  Meules,  which  produces  a  situation  differing 
entirely  from  the  localities  farther  up-stream  by  the 
obstacle  which  it  raises  to  the  retreat  of  the  waters. 
It  may  be  said  that  La  Piette  is  the  ordinary  up- 
stream limit  of  the  Bore,  as  beyond  that  it  usually 
becomes  only  an  undulation  of  greater  or  less  height, 
according  to  the  bottom  over  which  it  passes.  At 
Duclair  it  is  generally  possible  for  a  vessel  to  remain 
at  the  wharf;  and  finally,  at  Rouen,  the  arrival  of  the 
undulation  only  manifests  itself,  as  a  rule,  by  a  move- 
ment, more  or  less  pronounced,  of  the  vessels  moored 
along  the  quays. 

"  It  had  been  hoped  that  the  great  improvements 
effected  by  the  embankments  and  the  deepening  of  the 
Seine  would  have  either  destroyed  the  Bore  or  reduced 
to  a  nullity  its  effefts  ;  and,  indeed,  it  was  for  some 
time  currently  reported  that  such  had  been  the  case. 
Unfortunately,  time  has  shown  that  these  hopes  have 
not  been  verified,  though  the  works  have  certainly 
effected  some  slight  modification.  The  latest  informa- 
tion (1896)  shows  that  the  Bore  is  almost,  if  not 
quite,  as  strong  as  ever  in  the  lower  regions,  and  as 
a  consequence  of  the  deepening,  is  certainly  stronger 
than  before  in  the  upper  part,  and  notably  so  at  Rouen, 
where,  quite  recently,  steamers  have  been  known  to 
break  adrift  from  their  lashings  alongside  the  quays. 

143 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine       xviii 

"  Between  the  mouth  of  the  Seine  and  Rouen,  the 
following  may  be  taken  as  approximately  the  height 
of  the  Bore,  or  tidal  wave,  at  places  from  fifteen  to 
twenty  miles  apart  : — 

At    QuillebcEuf — strong   springs,  7   to  8    feet ; 

weak  springs,  4  feet. 
At  Caudebec — strong  springs,  7  to  8  feet  ;  weak 

springs,  4  feet. 
At  Duclair — strong  springs,  2  to  4  feet  ;  weak 

springs,  i  foot. 
At  Rouen — strong  springs,  2  feet  ;  weak  springs, 

nil. 

"  These  figures  refer  to  the  height  of  the  waves 
alongside  the  quays  or  banks,  for  it  has  been  observed 
in  mid-channel,  where  the  resistance  to  its  progress  is 
less,  the  height  of  the  wave  also  is  less." 

From  the  entrance  of  the  river  Dives  to  the  hill 
of  Notre-Dame-de-Grace  which  commands  the  town 
of  Honfleur,  the  left  bank  of  the  estuary  of  the  Seine 
is  bordered  by  high  hills  which  end  abruptly  towards 
the  sea  in  cliffs  of  brown  clay  or  stone,  and  there  are 
many  large  landslips,  but  in  front  of  three  valleys  the 
shore  is  low  and  sandy. 

The  widest  of  these  valleys  is  that  through  which 
the  little  river  Touques  trickles  to  the  sea. 

This  valley  is  two  miles  wide  at  the  sea,  and  the 

town  of  Trouville,  together  with  its  suburb  Deauville, 

occupies  this  space  and  scatters  its  many  villas  about 

the  wooded  hills  which  slope  to  the  sea.     Trouville 

144 


xviii  Crossing  the  Seine 

has  a  very  pretty  effed:  from  the  sea,  and  should  you 
be  no  nearer  than  a  couple  of  miles  its  happy  air  of 
platsance  is  noticeable,  like  the  scent  of  some  wild 
rose-bush  which  floats  across  a  woodland  stream. 


145 


CHAPTER   XIX 

TrouvIUe 

There  were  many  fluttering  handkerchiefs  and  waving 
parasols  upon  the  jetties  as  the  steamer  churned  up 
to  the  landing-stage — handkerchiefs  of  delicate  lace, 
parasols  like  silken  spider  webs  of  gay  colour.  Could 
a  welcome  more  charafteristic  of  a  place  be  given. 
Trouville  is  all  flutter — flutter  of  lace,  flutter  of  flags, 
flutter  of  life,  and  what  isn't  is  frou-frou  of  skirt 
and  shimmer  of  silk.  Here  the  "  creation  "  born  in 
Paris  "  comes  out."  Be  sure  the  last  word  in  summer 
clothes  is  spoken  always  for  the  first  time  at  Trou- 
ville. 

Trouville  and  history  seem  as  far  apart  as  the  two 
poles,  and  in  truth  there  is  little  to  tell  ;  and  though 
Touques,  two  miles  up  the  river,  has  the  rosy  distinc- 
tion of  being  the  place  from  which  William  Rufus 
embarked  after  the  death  of  his  father  to  claim  the 
crown  of  England,  Trouville  was  probably  not  then 
heard  of.  Indeed  it  was  but  a  small  fishing  village 
in  1825,  when  through  the  seascapes  of  the  painter 
Charles  Mozin  and  his  school,  it  suddenly  sprang  into 
fashion  ;  and  the  thirty  hours  during  which  Louis 

Philippe   took   refuge  there  before    his    flight  from 

146 


xix  Trouville 

France  does  not  make  it  historical  in  itself.  How- 
ever, the  twenty  thousand  people  who,  upon  an 
average,  visit  it  annually  during  July  and  August,  will 
not  worry  much  about  that. 

Gone  is  the  pi6turesque  fishing  village  that  pro- 
vided motifs  for  Mozin.  Huge  villas  now  peep  through 
the  woods  upon  its  cliffs  ;  cafes,  casinos,  and  apart- 
ment houses  line  its  foreshore,  and  rows  and  rows  of 
tents  are  upon  its  beach.  The  clumsy  fishing-boats 
sail  in  and  out  between  the  jetties  and  they  still  fish 
in  the  offing  ;  they  are  christened  by  the  priest  and 
blessed  by  him  occasionally,  but  Trouville  is  no  longer 
to  be  regarded  as  a  place  where  they  fish  ;  though  the 
little  Parisienne  may  think  otherwise. 

After  seeing  so  little  other  than  bourgeois  and 
fisher-folk,  it  was  a  joyous  change  to  rub  shoulders 
with  refined  people,  to  watch  their  graceful  move- 
ments, their  pleasantness  and  their  mannerly  be- 
haviour, and  to  see  graceful  women  frocked  and  frilled 
as  they  ought  to  be. 

Strolling  along  the  boards  which  are  laid  upon  the 
fine  sand  for  the  benefit  of  promenaders,  what  a  beauti- 
ful sense  of  refined  colour  one  enjoys.  The  rows  of 
red  and  white  striped  tents  turned  with  their  backs  to 
the  sea — how  gaudy  they  would  be  in  England  ;  the 
many  little  flags  of  the  Republic,  how  unobtrusive 
they  are.  How  clean  everything  is,  and  yet  what 
tone  the  whole  possesses.  Suburban  ladies  in  England 
will  tell  you  that  a  "  Liberty  shade  "  will  go  with  any- 
thing.    They  are  right,  but  in  France  anything  seems 

147 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine         xix 

to  go  with  anything,  and  whilst  the  most  garish 
colour  may  be  used,  it  never  strikes  a  wrong  note,  it 
is  always  in  its  place. 

When  the  "  Grande  Semaine  "  begins  in  Paris,  the 
Champs  Elysees  is  deserted  and  Parisian  society  meets 
itself  strolling  along  the  simple  promenade,  and  looks 
at  itself  from  the  little  tents  at  Trouville.  As  can 
well  be  imagined,  the  little  town  attracts  every  class 
of  society,  from  the  one  which  has  its  gleaming  villas 
set  in  gardens  glowing  with  flowers,  or  suites  of  rooms 
in  expensive  hotels,  to  that  which  lodges  "  who  knows 
where "  but  which  is  nevertheless  seen  upon  the 
beach  in  butterfly  raiment. 

It  is  from  this  last  class  that  Trouville  gets  its 
reputation  for  startling  bathing  costumes.  When  one 
sees  a  costume  du  bain  such  as  the  French  illustrated 
papers  delight  to  depi6t,  one  may  be  sure  that  the 
young  "  person  "  who  wears  it  has  not  the  run  of  the 
best  houses  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain.  And 
whilst  those  who  have  wear  costumes  that  are  far 
more  startling  than  would  be  seen  anywhere  in  Eng- 
land, it  is  not  to  be  thought  (as  it  is  generally)  that 
they  walk  about  in  them  the  whole  day  long.  Trou- 
ville society  is  too  busy  for  that  ;  its  time  is  taken 
up  by  its  garden  parties,  the  races  at  Deauville,  its 
dances,  dinners,  charity  fetes,  motor  excursions,  &c. 
Nevertheless  the  bathing  attra6ts  crowds  to  watch  it, 
and  I  doubt  if  our  English  girls  would  choose  to  run 
the  gauntlet  of  passing  between  the  rows  of  caricature 
men  who  line  the  planked  path  to  the  bathing-places, 

148 


s    ^\  *»-♦ 


Notre  Dame  de   Troinnlie 


XIX  Trouville 

even  though  the  best  ladies  of  France  may  do  it. 
Not  that  there  are  any  obvious  vulgarities  about  the 
bathing-places,  the  gardes  des  bains  would  quickly 
stop  that,  if  it  were  necessary,  but  it  is  not — for  the 
French  can  enjoy  their  audaciousness  without  that. 

The  bathing  is  considered,  by  those  who  are  not 
quite  the  thing,  to  be  the  chief  attra6tion  of  Trouville, 
and  it  seems  to  be  a  thing  to  dress  for  in  more  ways 
than  the  mere  costume  du  bain.  There  is  a  duck  of  a 
little  bonnet  which  beautifies  the  plainest  face — a 
close  fitting  affair,  with  little  roses  and  such  delightful 
bib-and-tucker  decorations,  with  long  ribbons  which 
tie  under  the  chin  ;  it  is  worn  en  route  for  the 
bathing-place. 

Mademoiselle  is  next  seen  making  her  exit  from 
the  disrobing  chamber.  She  is  then  clad  in  a  long, 
loose-flowing  cloak,  presently  this  is  cast  off  and  given 
to  the  guardian — and  behold  !  the  costume  du  bain  in 
all  its  charm  of  surprise  and  delicacy.  People  who 
have  not  been  to  Trouville  will  tell  you  that  these 
costumes  are  never  wetted  by  the  waves.  I  can  say 
this  of  Ostend,  but  not  of  Trouville.  Upon  the  other 
hand,  these  little  works  of  art  come  out  limp  and 
drabbled  in  a  pitiable  plight  after  mademoiselle  has 
done  with  her  plunging,  splashing,  and  screaming. 

Few  of  the  people  who  bathe  can  swim,  and  those 
who  do  go  off"  for  a  swim,  away  from  the  narrow, 
roped  part  of  the  beach,  which  is  the  official  bathing- 
place,  cause  much  excitement,  and  they  are  closely 
followed  by  one  of  the  little  white  boats  whose  en- 

149 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine         xix 

amelled  sides  reflect  the  green  sea,  whilst  their  blue- 
jerseyed  attendants  wait  for  any  accident  that  may 
happen. 

I  somehow  think  I  should  not  like  to  be  middling 
rich  in  Trouville,  I  think  I  would  rather  be  very  poor 
and  so  beyond  the  pale  of  maddening  competition  ; 
for  it  must  be  a  sickening  sight  for  the  fairly  rich 
man  to  take  his  family  there  and  find  his  idea  of 
splendour  quite  out-classed. 

Walking  along  the  plank  upon  the  front  you  will 
probably  see  the  finest-dressed  women  in  the  world, 
and  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  to  be  this  a  woman 
need  be  gorgeous,  or  that  the  gorgeous  toilettes  cost 
the  most.  The  shops  in  the  Rue  de  Paris  hard  by 
will  tell  you  that  it  is  those  simple  things  that  cost 
/the  most  ;  for  in  dress,  as  in  other  things,  elaboration  1 
may  hide  bad  art,  but  simplicity  cannot. 

What  astreet  the  Rue  de  Paris  is  for  present-buying. 
I  thought  of  all  the  little  ladies  who  had  been  my 
gentle  hostesses  at  home  ;  I  thought  of  each  of  them 
in  turn.  I  bought  them  each  a  present — in  imagina- 
tion— for  alas  !  I  was  beyond  the  pale.  What  plea- 
sant trouble  I  took  in  the  sele6lion  of  just  the  right 
thing  for  each. 

From  No.  54,  Quai  Joinville,  a  service  of  auto- 
mobiles runs  between  Trouville  and  Honfleur.  The 
journey  takes  about  fifty  minutes.  The  single  journey 
costs  two  francs  ten  centimes  if  you  ride  inside  ;  and  if 
upon  the  outside  seat  next  to  the  driver,  three  francs. 
The  route  passes  Hennequeville,  Villerville,  Crique- 

150 


xix  Trouville 

bcEuf,  Penne  de  Pic,  and  Vasoui.  The  rate  of  speed 
at  which  these  cars  travel  will  be  best  indicated  by  my 
telling  you  that  the  car  that  had  preceded  us  had  left 
in  its  trail  two  ducks,  a  wild  rabbit,  several  wild  birds, 
and  a  collie  dog,  all  of  which  lay  dead  upon  the  road. 
How  many  other  animals  were  left  dying  upon  the 
road  by  our  car,  I  cannot  say,  for  it  was  impossible 
to  see  what  was  happening  under  the  wheels.  And 
although  I  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  exhilaration  of 
that  ride,  I  could  not  help  feeling  pleased  that  such 
a  speed  would  not  be  permitted  in  England. 

However,  I  must  admit  feeling  a  trifle  nervous 
at  first.  It  was  bad  enough  ascending  the  heights 
through  the  town,  taking  sharp  turns,  according  to 
English  rule  at  the  wrong  side  of  the  road,  but  when 
we  came  to  descend,  I  found  myself  holding  on.  Evi- 
dently I  hadn't  got  the  hang  of  this  kind  of  craft. 
Indeed,  speeding  along  at  the  right-hand  side  of  the 
road  and  passing  other  vehicles  so,  had  a  most  startling 
effect,  and  upon  several  occasions  I  squirmed. 

Careering  along,  up  and  down  the  hills  and  dales, 
one  gets  occasional  glimpses  of  the  blue  Seine  between 
the  trees  that  abound  along  the  road  sides,  and  cover 
the  sloping  cliffs  down  to  the  water's  edge.  One 
minute  looking  upon  the  moss-grown  roofs  of  the 
barns  of  a  farm,  the  next,  one  would  be  flying  down 
to  where  some  little  babbling  brook  ran  under  the 
road  and  for  a  second  a  valley  of  green  tree  trunks 
would  be  seen.  Then  rushing  through  one  of  the 
villages  where  little  boys  would  pretend  to  get  in  the 

151 


From  the  T^hames  to  the  Seine        xix 

way,  the  car  would  pull  up  and  wait  near  the  church 
or  the  principal  hotel,  and  quaint  passengers  would 
alight  and  quainter  ones  get  in  and  the  car  would  be 
off  again. 

Eventually  I  realised  that  I  was  nearing  Honfleur, 
for  masts  of  ships  were  seen  amongst  the  houses,  and 
in  a  very  short  while  the  car  was  bowling  down 
quaint  streets,  tooting  for  all  it  was  worth.  Through 
the  market-place  and  along  the  side  of  the  quay,  it 
took  a  sudden  turn  and  stopped  in  front  of  the  Cheval 
Blanc,  into  which  hotel  I  dived  with  an  appetite  that 
was  quite  equal  to  the  excellent  dejeuner^  which  for 
two  francs  fifty  centimes  one  may  call  one's  own 
together  with  cider  or  with  wine  for  a  further 
sixpence. 


152 


CHAPTER   XX 

Honfleur 

A  LESS  ancient  town  might  be  ruffled  by  this  line  of 
motor  cars,  which  every  two  hours  toots  its  rapid 
way  into  the  very  heart  of  old-time  ideals.  But  the 
lovable  little  town  of  Honfleur  and  its  drowsy  inhabi- 
tants remain  placidly  undisturbed. 

The  Honfleurais  still  smoke  their  pipes  whilst  rest- 
ing their  elbows  upon  the  sea-wall,  languidly  gazing 
at  their  boats  upon  the  mud  below,  and  desultory 
scraps  of  chatter  are  woven  round  little  nothings  until 
the  boats  are  afloat,  then  in  leisurely  fashion  they 
shake  the  ashes  from  their  pipes  and  slowly  glide 
to  sea. 

Twice  a  week  a  little  steamer  from  Southampton 
calls  for  Normandy  butter,  eggs,  cheese,  vegetables, 
and  fowls  for  London,  and  cautiously  enters  one  of 
the  splendid  basins  which  were  built  for  the  ships  of 
the  world,  but  which  are  unremembered.  Acres  of 
stone-walled  docks  there  are.  These,  perhaps  the 
only  up-to-date  things  in  Honfleur,  are  unused,  save 
by  an  occasional  coasting  schooner  or  two,  whose 
skipper  has  perhaps  a  maiden  aunt  living  in  the 
old  town. 

Doubtless  it  was  hopeless  to  try  and  construdl  a  new 

'53 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  xx 

future  for  Honfleur,  for  it  dreamt  its  dreams  of  great- 
ness nigh  on  a  couple  of  millenniums  ago. 

In  those  days  it  was  called  Portus  Iccius,  and  Cassar 
sailed  out  of  its  harbour  to  Britain.  It  was  flushed 
with  civic  greatness  and  maritime  importance,  when, 
farther  up  the  Seine,  savages  fished  from  coracles  about 
the  isle  which,  when  the  trifling  matter  of  a  few  cen- 
turies had  passed,  was  to  form  the  site  of  Paris.  But 
Portus  Iccius  was  claimed  by  the  sea  ;  it  melted  and 
became  a  sandbank.  Some  Saxons,  piratically  in- 
clined as  was  their  wont,  established  a  settlement 
close  under  the  cliff,  whence  they  carried  on  their 
maraudings  by  land  and  sea.  That  was  in  the  sixth 
century,  and  the  present  town  owes  its  origin  to  these 
self-same  Saxon  gentry. 

If  the  Honfleurais  were  not  so  preoccupied  with 
the  easing  down  of  their  own  speed,  they  might  spend 
their  time  railing  at  the  sand  which  silted  up  in  the 
channel  and  long  ago  caused  Honfleur  to  lose  that 
commercial  importance  which  Havre  with  its  fairly 
deep  channel  enjoys  to  this  day.  But  the  natives  are 
far  too  comfortable  to  rail,  and  there  is  no  jealousy 
shown  for  Havre,  save  by  a  few  un-sedate  ones  who 
have  the  stupidity  to  wish  that  things  were  otherwise. 
Nowadays,  when  the  little  paddle  steamer  from  Le 
Havre  daily  comes  and  goes,  Honfleur  is  merely  re- 
minded that  the  people  of  Havre  are  shockingly 
businesslike. 

Doubtless  the  powers  that  spent  millions  upon  the 
constru6tion  of  the  magnificent  docks,  regard  Hon- 

154 


XX  Ho7tfleur 

fleur  as  a  white  elephant,  but  Honfleur  cHngs  to  the 
past,  and  commercially  to  those  days  long  before  docks 
were  thought  of,  when  its  fighting  merchants  sent 
ships  to  half  the  ports  of  the  world. 

Kn  masse  Honfleur  is  now  no  longer  picturesque, 
thanks  to  the  unyielding  severity  of  its  docks,  but 
little  bits  of  loveliness  are  scattered  almost  where  you 
will  in  its  interior,  and  regarded  from  the  proper 
point  of  view  the  little  town  is  beautiful,  and  there 
lurks  a  dignity  that  must  have  come  from  the  days 
of  the  Conqueror  and  far  beyond. 

There  is  a  building  which  may  be  thought  a  castle, 
when  one  does  not  think  of  it  as  a  palace.  It  rises 
from  the  water-front.  Architecturally  it  is  weird, 
but  freak  buildings  are  not  uncommon  in  Honfleur. 
It  is  called  the  Lieutenancy,  and  was  the  residence 
of  the  governor  of  the  port  in  kingly  times.  It 
carries  still,  in  spite  of  its  patches  of  brick  and  its 
rags  of  softening  decay,  a  dignity  that  speaks  of  the 
elegance  of  its  early  days. 

Beyond  this,  rising  from  the  Quai  Saint-Catherine, 
is  a  towering  pile  of  ancient  houses  whose  slated  sides, 
pierced  by  irregularly  spaced  windows,  overhang  the 
footpath,  supported  by  huge  timbers.  A  fine  eiFe6l 
of  these  houses  reflected  in  the  still  waters  of  the 
dock,  is  to  be  had  from  the  other  side  of  the  bassin. 

What  could  be  more  quaint  than  the  wooden 
tower  of  the  belfry  of  the  wooden  Church  of  Saint 
Catherine  ?  It  stands  alone  in  the  market-place, 
separated  from  the  church  to  which  it  belongs,  and 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine         xx 

built  upon  the  crumbling  mediasval  house  of  the 
verger. 

I  am  told  that  the  caretaker  is  blind  and  that  he 
will  nevertheless  lead  one  up  the  twisting  ladders  of 
the  tower  amongst  the  bells,  and  show  you  the  views 
that  he  once  saw,  without  the  slightest  inconvenience. 
This  tower,  as  is  shown  in  the  drawing,  is  strutted 
with  timbers.  These,  like  the  rest  of  the  towers,  are 
slated,  and  the  whole  has  the  effeft  of  a  gigantic 
candle-snuffer. 

Saint  Catherine's,  to  which  the  bell-tower  belongs 
save  for  the  modern  front,  is  also  construfted  of  wood, 
and  it  is  quite  as  freakish  as  the  tower.  The  timbers 
have  that  rich  quality  that  speaks  not  of  the  trim- 
ming plane — they  are  rough-hewn.  The  exterior 
has  the  efFe6l  of  two  huge  barns,  save  for  the  west 
front,  which  is  an  awful  mock  Doric  affair,  built  doubt- 
less to  replace  the  original  one  of  wood.  The  interior 
suggests  the  perpendicular  gone  wrong,  for  the  wooden 
beams  stagger  as  though  weighted  down  by  the  charge 
of  the  souls  of  centuries.  There  are  most  amusing 
pi6tures  upon  the  screen  of  the  organ-loft. 

So  freakish  is  this  church  that  it  must  be  seen  to 
be  believed,  so  to  speak. 

Upon  the  lintel  of  the  ancient  bell-tower  doorway 
is  carved  a  small  figure  of  the  blessed  Saint  Catherine. 
She  holds  the  wheel  of  her  martyrdom,  that  wheel 
from  which  the  name  of  a  certain  firework  was  given. 

Crude  though  the  workmanship,  it  is  an  interesting 

little   figure,  which    has  rested  there   for   over  four 

centuries. 

156 


HoNFLEUR :  Wooden  Houses  in  the  Rue  Varin 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  xx 

Near  the  old  port  is  a  little  church  built  of  stone 
about  six  hundred  years  ago.  This  is  now  no  longer 
used  as  a  church,  but  it  serves  an  admirable  institution, 
the  Societe  de  Vieux  Honjleur,  as  a  conference  hall,  and 
it  is  part  of  the  Society's  museum.  The  museum 
proper  is  an  excellent  one,  and  its  colleftion  is  limited 
entirely  to  articles  which  illustrate  local  history. 
Cannon  from  the  ancient  ships  of  Honfleur,  ancient 
broadsheets  with  the  old-time  press  that  printed 
them,  articles  of  domestic  service,  books,  weapons, 
and  very  realistic  lifesize  figures  dressed  in  ancient 
Honfleur  costumes  ;  all  these  may  be  found  there, 
and  the  history  of  the  place  thus  well  illustrated  is 
at  your  finger  tips. 

Any  one  interested  in  ships  and  sailors  should  climb 
the  heights  to  where  behind  the  town  Our  Lady  of 
Grace  commands  the  fine  views  that  are  to  be  had 
of  the  seaboard  and  the  Seine. 

Robert  the  Devil  founded  it  in  1034,  together 
with  two  other  chapels — Our  Lady  of  Pity  at  Har- 
fleur  and  Our  Lady  of  Deliverance  at  Caen.  These 
chapels  were  the  outcome  of  a  vow  which  he  made 
when  caught  at  sea  by  a  mighty  tempest,  stating  he 
would  build  three  chapels  in  her  honour  if  she,  in 
grace  and  pity,  delivered  him  from  the  great  danger 
and  did  bring  him  safely  to  land.  He  was  delivered, 
and  so  the  chapels  were  built  with  characteristic 
haste  in  fulfilment  of  his  vow.  This  chapel  was  de- 
stroyed by  an  earthquake,  and  the  miraculous  pre- 
servation of  the  image  of  the  Virgin  caused  many 

158 


XX  Honjleur 

pilgrims  to  visit  the  shrine.  The  present  chapel 
was  built  in  1613.  What  more  natural  than  that 
the  chapel  shouldbe  crowded  withex-votos  registering 
the  vows  of  sailors  whom  the  Virgin  had  saved  from 
perils  on  the  sea.  You  will  sea  ancient  ships  hang- 
ing from  the  ceiling  and  shelved  upon  the  walls. 
Paintings  showing  the  storm-beset  ships  Our  Lady- 
succoured  ;  many  of  them  have  an  account  of  the 
trouble  the  ship  found  herself  in.  You  will  see  also 
other  modern  and  more  gaudy  pi6tures  done  by 
fishermen  of  these  days,  in  which  their  boats  are 
shown  battling  with  impossible  seas,  which  as  thank- 
offerings  are  none  the  less  devout  because  of  their 
crudities  and  recent  date. 

Surely  the  people  of  Honfleur  know  not  the  mean- 
ing of  time  as  ordinary  folk  do — what  is  a  century 
or  two  to  them — and  doubtless  that  is  why  they 
drone  along  as  though  a  lifetime  were  of  no  account  ; 
and  though  the  rage  of  speed  might  spin  the  rest 
of  the  world  to  its  heart's  content,  I  have  a  sneaking 
fancy  that  I  should  be  sorry  if  it  disturbed  the 
Honfleurais. 

How  time  flew  that  afternoon.  The  warning 
whistle  of  the  Francois  P""  was  calling  such  belated 
passengers  as  myself,  and  with  many  regrets  that  I 
could  not  spend  longer  in  the  little  sleepy  port,  I 
jumped  aboard  ;  the  signal  bell  tingling  in  the 
engine-room  set  the  paddles  churning  up  the  green 
waters  of  the  old  harbour  and  off  she  steamed  for 
Le  Havre. 

159 


CHAPTER  XXI 

Getting  out  of  Dock  at   Havre 
and  away  to   Fecamp 

The  little  steamer  ploughed  her  way  down  the  well- 
buoyed  channel.  These  channel  marks  are  unsink- 
able  boats,  and  the  channel  is  like  a  street  at  night, 
each  boat  being  lit  with  large  gas  lamps.  Then  the 
skipper  took  her  across  the  banks  that  in  a  few  hours 
would  be  dry.  Crossing  sandbanks  with  a  falling  tide, 
without  the  worry  of  smelling  one's  way,  was  like 
snapping  one's  fingers  at  them,  and  doubtless  Monsieur 
le  Capitaine  knew  to  an  inch  what  amount  of  water 
was  under  us.  At  last  she  slowed  down  in  the  har- 
bour, and  as  her  paddle-boxes  growled  against  the 
wharf,  I  stepped  ashore  and  started  buying  stores,  for 
I  must  get  out  of  dock  at  midnight. 

The  time  arrived  at  last.  The  arc  lights  blazed 
forth  as  the  dock-gates  were  opened.  I  got  up  my 
sails,  cast  off  my  warps,  and  commenced  playing  a  solo 
upon  the  foghorn  by  way  of  intimating  that  the  bridge 
was  between  the  Mave  Rhoe  and  the  sea.  Then  this 
iron  obstruction  swung  open,  and  the  dock-keeper 
barked  at  me  in  evident  anger  for  some  reason,  the 
nature  of  which  I  am  still  in  ignorance  of,  as  I  slowly 


1 60 


xxi  Getting  out  of  Dock  at  Havre 

drifted  through  the  entrance.  However,  I  made  him 
an  elaborate  bow,  and  began  looking  out  for  steamer 
lights,  and  as  the  dock  gates  were  all  open  they  were 
coming  up  the  harbour  in  an  unbroken  line.  Dodg- 
ing them  with  the  paltry  wind  I  had  was  anxious 
work,  and  I  was  glad  when  I  got  to  the  outer  harbour, 
where  it  would  be  necessary  to  wait  until  an  hour 
before  low  water  in  order  to  catch  the  flood  up  the 
coast.  This  meant  a  good  sleep  of  six  hours  in  theory, 
but  in  praftice,  owing  to  the  anchor  dragging,  I  had 
no  more  than  three  hours.  There  promised  to  be 
the  same  wind  that  had  held  for  two  days,  which 
would  be  a  leading  one  for  my  passage  to  Fecamp. 

August  6th. — The  alarm  clock  woke  me  with  ajerk, 
and  the  lovely  morning  breeze  that  was  coming  from 
the  right  quarter  soon  blew  the  cobwebs  off  me,  and 
while  the  cheerful  frizzle  of  eggs  and  bacon  spluttered 
upon  the  stove,  I  set  the  sails.  I  was  just  about  to 
get  up  the  cable  when  I  received  a  crack  upon  the 
nose  from  the  jib  sheet  shackle.  The  blood  flowed 
down  my  face,  and  I  felt  sick  for  a  while,  but  bathing 
it  with  that  finest  of  antiseptics,  good  old  salt- 
water, I  was  soon  all  right.  Then  I  got  the  hook 
aboard,  and  waving  an  affedlionate  good-bye  to  Le 
Havre,  I  set  off.  Once  outside  the  harbour  the  wind 
fell  light,  and  I  was  making  little  progress  ;  then  it 
dropped  altogether,  the  boom  came  amidships,  and 
the  tide  was  sucking  me  back  to  Le  Havre.  This  was 
a  bit  of  the  worst  kind  of  luck.     I  had  now  missed 

l6l  L 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine  xxi 

the  tide  up  the  coast,  and  unless  I  had  some  wind  I 
should  never  be  able  to  pick  it  up  in  time.  I  dropped 
my  hook  overboard  and  hung  there  for  an  hour  ; 
meanwhile  the  sky  ahead  was  turning  into  that  leaden 
colour  which  foretells  wind,  and  soon  the  sails  began 
to  shiver.  There  followed  a  hot  squall,  and  here  was 
a  new  wind.  It  was  coming  from — note  my  inevi- 
table luck — right  ahead.  I  was  determined,  however, 
to  catch  that  tide  if  possible,  so  I  took  hold  of  the 
cable  and  pulled  for  all  I  was  worth.  The  anchor 
would  not  break  out.  I  tried  for  half-an-hour  ;  mean- 
while the  sea  was  getting  up  a  bit,  and  at  last  by 
shortening  up  the  chain  in  the  hollow  of  one  of  the 
waves,  the  anchor  broke  out  with  a  sickening  jerk 
that  seemed  like  to  have  burst  the  sterm.  I  found 
afterwards  that  I  was  anchored  upon  a  patch  of  mud 
that  has  caused  many  a  big  ship's  anchor  to  drive  so 
deeply  that  the  loss  of  anchor  and  cable  was  inevitable. 
Thus  it  was  not  all  bad  luck  with  me. 

I  found  she  had  as  much  as  she  could  possibly  stick 
under  her  whole  mainsail,  and  her  decks  were  awash 
to  the  portholes  of  the  cabin.  I  kept  her  so,  for  I 
was  in  a  hurry,  and  stood  out  to  sea  upon  a  long  tack  ; 
the  leaden  murk  of  the  sky  had  blotted  out  the  land, 
but  I  held  on  until  I  thought  I  was  about  six  miles 
to  seawards  of  Cape  La  Heve,  then  I  came  about. 
If  I  had  picked  up  the  tide  I  ought  to  fetch  the  land 
about  half-way  between  that  and  Cape  d'Antifer.  On 
I  sailed,  enjoying  the  exhilaration  of  it,  and  soon  the 

high  land  loomed  up  grey  ;   I  was  quite  close  to  it, 

162 


^ 


i  ^ 


xxi         Getting  out  of  Dock  at  Havre 

but  not  far  to  windward  of  Cape  La  Heve.      Clearly 

I  must  make  a  longer  seaward  tack,  so  coming  about 

I  set  her  at  it,  and  presently  one  of  the  Havre  pilot 

vessels  hove  up  and  crossed  my  bows,  only  to  be  again 

lost  in  the  murkiness.      Her  skipper  with  his  glasses, 

and  the  crew  standing  by,  watched  me  as  I  passed, 

and  I  warrant  they  were  filled  with  admiration  for 

the  little  strange  yacht  that  was  making  such  good 

weather  of  it.     On   she   drove   until   she   began    to 

wallow  a  bit,  and  it  became  necessary  to  get  a  reef 

down  :  it  was  a  wet  piece  of  work,  for  I  was  now  in 

the  strength  of  the  tide.      I  put  her  about,  and  had 

just  finished  my  labours  when  the  pilot-boat  hove  in 

sight  again.     I  came  about  under  her  lee,  and  in  half- 

an-hour  I  had  eaten  my  way  so  far  to  windward  of 

her,  that  I  was  able  to  pass  her  weather,  and  soon  I 

lost  sight  of  and  saw  no  more  of  her.      Meanwhile 

the  decks  of  the  yacht,  which  had  opened  with  the 

heat  of  the  sun  during  the  two  days  she  had  rested 

in  dock  at  Havre,  were  leaking  so  badly  that  positive 

streams  of  water  were  pouring  into  the  cabin.     The 

water  had  risen  in  her  bilge  until  it  was  beginning 

to  make  the  floorboards  float.      I  brought  her  upon 

the  land  tack,  and  started  working  the  pump.     I  was 

sopping  wet  with  the  reefing,  and  I  was  glad  of  the 

warmth  caused  by  this  exertion.      Presently  I  looked 

up  from  my  work ;  the  mist  had  cleared  away,  and  I 

was  approaching  d'Antifer,  whose  towering  heights 

were  glowing  richly  in  the  sun.     I  could  just  define 

Fecamp  in  the  distance  down  the  coast.      I  was  in 

163 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Sei?te         xxi 

sight  of  my  destination,  at  all  events,  but  I  was  begin- 
ning to  realise  the  impossibility  of  getting  there  upon 
that  tide,  for  there  was  but  half-an-hour  of  it  left.  I 
stood  off  again,  and  when  next  I  came  close  in  shore 
I  was  abreast  of  Etretat,  struggling  hopelessly  against 
the  tide,  which  had  now  turned.  The  coast  here- 
abouts, as  you  will  remember,  is  bestrewn  with  iso- 
lated rocks,  and  although  fishing-boats  with  off-shore 
winds  seek  shelter  in  the  little  Bay  of  Etretat,  the 
present  wind  made  it  praftically  useless,  and  the  risk 
of  hitting  a  submerged  rock  was  too  great.  There 
was  no  anchorage  along  shore,  as  the  cliffs  drop  sheer 
into  the  water,  except  for  a  steep  shingle  bank  here 
and  there,  and  the  depth  of  water  offshore  was  greater 
than  my  length  of  chain.  So  there  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  tack  and  tack  about  for  six  and  three- 
quarter  hours,  thanking  the  Lord  the  while  that  I 
was  losing  so  little  ground.  Under  these  circum- 
stances one  may  consider  one's  self  lucky  if  one's  boat 
will  sail  by  herself,  and  I  am  proud  to  say  that  beyond 
bringing  her  about  at  the  end  of  each  tack,  I  never 
touched  the  helm.  Towards  evening  the  sea  had 
gone  down  considerably,  and  a  small  sailing  pleasure- 
boat — the  only  one  I  came  across  in  France — put  out 
of  Etretat  and  came  to  have  a  look  at  me.  Upon  her 
return  the  tide  drifted  her  so  far  that  I  thought  she 
would  not  get  back,  but  evidently  she  found  a  slack 
and  got  in.  Soon  after  this  the  lights  of  the  little 
town  broke  through  the  violet  glow  of  sundown,  and 

night  came  on.     The  towering  coast  became  a  silhou- 

164 


xxi         Getting  out  of  Dock  at  Havre 

ette  of  deep  black  velvet,  the  stars  broke  out  one  by 
one,  the  flashes  of  Antifer  lighthouse  flicked  the  crests 
of  waves  with  silver  glare  and  cast  long  streams  of  light 
along  the  sky,  and  the  majesty  of  night  was  over  all. 
The  hissing  of  the  wind  and  the  splatter  of  the  sea 
was  now  not  too  loud  to  let  the  booming  of  the 
breakers  upon  the  shore  insinuate  their  warning  note. 
Once  I  had  stood  rather  nearer  in  than  usual,  and 
from  the  coastguard  station  at  the  top  of  the  heights 
a  red  flare  was  shown,  which  was  put  out  as  soon  as 
I  came  about  ;  clearly  I  had  been  standing  into  danger, 
so  I  gave  the  shore  a  wider  berth  afterwards.  Then  the 
"  jug,  jug  "  of  a  propeller  was  heard,  and  a  steam  tramp 
came  ploughing  past  me  along  the  coast.  I  don't  think 
anything  could  be  more  galling  than  the  sight  of  a 
steamer  ploughing  steadily  on  against  wind  and  tide, 
whilst  you  are  eating  your  heart  out  tacking  about 
merely  to  save  losing  ground.  The  sound  of  good  old 
Cockney  accent  was  coming  out  of  her,  as  her  green 
light  glided  past.  Soon  I  began  to  make  a  little  pro- 
gress, and  glancing  at  the  clock,  the  hour  that  had 
seemed  never  likely  to  approach  had  arrived.  The 
tide  had  turned,  and  with  it  had  come  that  new  energy 
which  always  seems  to  accompany  it.  The  sea  was 
once  more  curling,  and  although  it  was  a  comfortable 
whole  mainsail  breeze,  I  had  quite  a  sporty  little  sail. 
Bejewelled  spray  was  scattering  itself  upon  the  forward 
deck,  and  white  surf  was  creeping  to  the  bows  from 
out  the  blackness  all  round.      Soon  I  picked  up  the 

flashes  of  the  lighthouses  at  the  ends  of  Fecamp  jetties, 

165 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine        xxii 

and  wary  of  the  tide  that  crosses  the  entrances  I  stag- 
gered through  the  rough  and  tumble  of  the  bar  into 
smooth  water.  The  huge  chffs  of  Fagnet  robbed  me 
of  wind,  and  the  tide  was  ever  so  slow  a-taking  me  up 
to  the  harbour.  Not  a  soul  was  about  as  I  climbed 
up  to  the  top  of  the  quay,  but  presently,  whilst  I  was 
lighting  a  cigarette,  a  gendarme  approached.  He  very 
kindly  told  me  that  some  big  fishing-boats  would  be 
coming  out  of  dock  that  tide,  and  I  had  better  not 
stop  in  the  outer  harbour,  as  they  were  a  rough  lot,  the 
Fecamp  fishermen,  but  get  into  the  dock  as  they  came 
out,  at  high  water. 

It  seemed  useless  to  try  to  sleep  with  this  prospe6l 
in  view,  so  I  mooned  around  until  signs  of  aftivity 
broke  the  silence  of  the  night.  The  dock  gates  then 
opened,  and  I  slipped  in  as  the  two  huge  fishing-boats 
— the  kind  that  go  to  Newfoundland  to  fish  for  cod — 
were  warping  out. 

When  I  was  berthed  I  fell  into  my  bunk  and  tried 
to  sleep,  but  the  wretched  chatter  of  those  fishermen 
echoing  across  the  dock  prevented  it  until  the  dawn 
came  up. 


i66 


ip/ 


'i>}^M:im 


% 


V  \:^, 


CHAPTER   XXII 

Fecamp  (Preparing   for  the 
Crossing) 

I  WAS  aroused  at  lo  a.m.  by  the  harbour  official,  who 
handed  me  a  bill  for  three  francs.  This  was  the 
only  occasion  throughout  my  trip  upon  which  I  had 
been  required  to  pay  harbour  dues.  The  official 
explained  that  I  should  have  been  charged  nothing 
if  I  had  entered  by  day. 

"  You  must  also  see  the  Douaniers^  Monsieur,"  he 
continued.  I  thought  to  myself,  "  I'll  see  them 
hanged  first,"  and  went  ashore  to  breakfast.  Upon  my 
return  to  the  yacht.  Monsieur  de  la  Douane  was  there. 
Upon  this  occasion  there  was  only  one,  and  he  was  a 
very  angry  one.  He  looked  at  me  as  if  he  were 
going  to  get  a  grip  on  me,  but  when  he  saw  the 
Calais  passport  he  quickly  became  all  smiles. 

I  intended  starting  to  cross  for  England  that  night 
before  the  dock  gates  would  be  open,  so  it  would  be 
imperative  to  get  into  the  outer  harbour  at  the  top  of 
the  present  tide. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  handling  of  those  warps  : 

they  were  covered  with  a  slimy  substance  composed 

of  fish  oil,  a  sort  of  fatty  grease,  floating  tar  and  tan, 

167 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine        xxii 

from  the  sail  and  net  tanning  operations,  and  this 
horrible  stuff  was  floating  upon  the  surface  of  the 
dock.  The  dock,  however,  was  nothing  to  the  outer 
harbour,  which,  added  to  this  horrible  grease,  con- 
tained much  that  travelled  down  the  drains  of  the 
town.  This  horrid  stuff  had  coated  the  walls  of  the 
harbour  and  the  iron  ladders  with  a  solid  mass  of  it, 
which  upon  the  walls  was  quite  an  inch  thick.  Ima- 
gine climbing  twenty  feet  up  these  ladders  !  Some 
idea  of  the  tenacity  with  which  this  beastly  stuff 
stuck  to  things  will  be  gathered,  when  I  tell  you  that 
I  had  to  use  methylated  spirits  to  get  it  off  my  hands 
— soap  was  utterly  useless. 

Perhaps  my  impressions  of  Fecamp,  which  has  a 
considerable  reputation  as  a  seaside  resort,  are  biassed 
by  the  filthy  state  of  its  harbour.  For  during  my 
hurried  look  round  the  town  I  found  nothing  pic- 
turesque, and  I  had  to  go  to  the  cliffs  to  find  some- 
thing uncommon.  These  cliffs  have  a  most  peculiar 
effect :  the  strata,  which  from  the  sea  appears  in  paral- 
lel straight  lines,  twists  about  in  a  most  confusing 
way  when  one  is  looking  up  at  it  from  the  foot  of 
the  cliff.  There  are  many  fine  caves  along  the  coast, 
and  several  "  blow-holes,"  through  which  the  waves 
thunder  with  a  sound  like  cannon. 

No  doubt  the  town  has  many  objects  of  interest, 
and  its  history,  which  is  chiefly  ecclesiastical,  is  re- 
markable. 

Fecamp  owes  its  origin  to  a  monastery  for  women, 

founded  in  the  year  658  upon  the  spot  where  a  fig- 

168 


xxii     Ficamp  {Preparing  for  the  Crossing) 

tree  was  washed  up  by  the  sea.  Joseph  of  Ari- 
mathea  had  placed  in  this  tree  some  of  the  Precious 
Blood. 

In  a  marble  ciborium  in  one  of  the  chapels  of  the 
abbey  church  some  of  this  Precious  Blood  is  said 
to  remain  to  this  day. 

There  is  a  fountain  placed  upon  the  spot  where 
the  sacred  fig-tree  was  deposited  by  the  waves,  and 
into  its  cold  waters  children  ill  with  skin  diseases  are 
often  plunged. 

The  two  huge  churches  date  from  the  thirteenth 
and  the  sixteenth  century  respeftively,  but  as  they 
don't  look  at  all  like  it,  they  are  uninteresting,  save 
perhaps  to  the  architect,  but  the  interiors  are  very 
beautiful. 

In  another  chapel  of  the  abbey,  a  lovely  little 
tabernacle  contains  a  stone  said  to  be  marked  by  a 
footprint  of  the  angel  who  assisted  at  the  dedication 
of  the  church.  Its  ancient  Benedictine  monastery 
was  founded  by  Richard  the  Fearless  in  990,  and  it 
has  the  reputation  of  being  the  only  one  that  stood 
to  the  north  of  the  Seine. 

It  was  at  this  monastery  that  William  the  Con- 
queror kept  the  first  Easter  after  the  conquest  of 
England,  and  we  are  told  of  the  great  state  that 
marked  the  ceremonies  of  that  occasion.  Little 
remains,  however,  of  this  abbey  save  eighteenth- 
century  buildings. 

In  the  street  that  stretches  between  the  beach  and 
the  Place  Thiers  is  the  celebrated  distillery  where  the 

169 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine        xxii 

well-known  Liqueur  Benedictine  is  made.  This  con- 
coftion  was  beloved  by  the  Benedictine  monks,  from 
whose  recipe  the  liqueur  is  still  made.  Visitors  may- 
look  over  the  distillery,  and  there  is  a  small  museum 
connected  with  it,  but  neither  this  nor  the  distillery 
are  worth  the  trouble  of  seeing. 

Fecamp  doubtless  set  the  Middle  Age  fashion  of 
having  a  lion  upon  one's  tomb  (such  as  may  often  be 
seen  upon  mediaeval  tombs  as  armorial  bearings),  for 
the  tomb  of  Richard  Sans  Peur's  second  son  Robert, 
which  was,  we  are  told,  the  earliest  monument  in 
Normandy,  contained  this  device.  But  the  red  hand 
of  the  Revolution  spread  to  Fecamp,  and  this,  to- 
gether with  many  other  tombs,  was  destroyed. 

Leaving  our  probings  into  Fecamp's  past,  we  will 
now  consider  the  town  as  it  concerned  ourselves. 

Its  harbour  has  been  described,  and  the  description 
will  not  induce  such  yachtsmen  as  may  read  this 
chapter  to  call  there. 

But  if  Fecamp  has  a  filthy  harbour,  it  must  be 
remembered  that  deep-sea  fishing  is  the  chief  occu- 
pation of  its  inhabitants,  which  is  not  the  cleanest 
business  in  the  world.  Doubtless,  when  one  of  the 
huge  vessels  returns,  the  sticky  wretches  have  to 
destroy  all  their  clothes  ;  and  the  oil,  and  fish  filth, 
pumped  out  of  the  bilges  of  the  boats,  makes  the 
harbour  what  it  is. 

I  did  not  see  one  of  these  great  boats  return,  but  I 
saw  one  set  ofi\,  and  as  they  are  away  for  some  six 

months  at  a  stretch,  you  may  imagine  what  a  com- 

170 


xxii    Fecamp  {Preparing  for  the  Crossing 

motion  the  departure  causes,  what  good  wishes, 
what  tears,  what  lingering  kisses,  what  heart-breaking 
separations.  And  when  the  tug  catches  hold  and 
slowly  tows  the  vessel  to  the  harbour  mouth,  what 
a  scamper  of  sweethearts  and  wives  there  is  round  the 
quays  and  along  the  jetties  as  the  big  tan  sails  are 
hoisted,  mid  the  screams  of  the  blocks  and  the  hauling 
cries  of  the  fishermen.  Then  out  to  sea  the  tug  casts 
off  and  slowly  returns  to  the  harbour  ;  and  upon  the 
jetty  what  waving  of  farewells  there  is  as  the  fisher- 
men slowly  creep  behind  the  towering  cliff  northward 
upon  their  long  voyage  to  the  Newfoundland  banks. 

But  what  of  ourselves  !  We  must,  I  thought, 
soon  depart  upon  what,  for  so  small  a  boat,  was  no 
mean  adventure — the  crossing  of  the  Channel.  There 
would  be  no  hand  stir  at  our  departure,  and  I  was 
reminded  that  there  would  be  much  work  to  be  done 
paying  the  leaky  decks  with  putty  before  midnight. 

For  seven  solid  hours  I  worked,  and  when  the  tire- 
some job  was  finished,  I  had  that  awful  ladder  to 
climb.  The  gingerly  way  in  which  I  climbed  this 
path  of  slime  seemed  to  amuse  the  crowd  of  onlookers, 
one  of  whom — a  quaint-looking  dwarf — I  engaged 
to  look  after  the  yacht  and  keep  her  against  the  quay 
side,  so  that  she  would  not  take  ground  with  her 
side  in  the  filthy  mud. 

I  then  commissioned  the  nearest  barber  to  attend 
my  immediate  needs,  and  it  took  me  half-an-hour  to 
clean  my  hands. 

There  was  a  little  grocery  shop  quite  near  the  quay, 

171 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine        xxii 

owned  by  a  bright  and  pleasant  young  man  who 
spoke  a  little  English.  There  I  ordered  three  days' 
stores  in  case  of  eventualities  during  the  crossing. 
He  recommended  me  to  the  Hotel,  where  he  said 
I  should  get  "  the  very  best,  trh  bon  diner ^  in 
Fecamp,"  but  this  was  not  enough,  he  would  run 
along  with  Monsieur  and  he  would  see  that  Madame 
would  do  her  best  for  the  English  gentleman.  Upon 
the  way  he  expressed  astonishment  at  my  intended 
crossing,  "  But  the  petit  bateau^  will  it  so  far  go  ?  " 
he  inquired,  adding,  '^Mais  out;  Monsieur  is  English, 
and  the  English  make  possible  anything  of  the  sea." 
How  pleased  he  was  when  I  remarked,  "Just  as  much 
as  theFrenchmen  do  of  the  air,"Bleriothavingrecently 
crossed  the  Channel  in  his  monoplane.  Whether 
or  not  the  dinner  owed  anything  to  the  epiciers  inter- 
cession I  cannot  say,  but  it  was,  as  he  had  prophesied, 
"  of  the  very  best,  tres  bon.''' 

It  was  quite  dusk  by  the  time  the  dinner  was  over 
and  I  had  called  for  the  stores.  The  epicier  came  along 
with  them  in  a  basket  to  the  yacht.  The  dwarf  was 
there,  doing  sentry  duty,  but  the  fool  had  let  the  boat 
go  over  on  her  side.  I  could  have  brained  him,  instead 
of  which  I  gave  him  a  franc  and  told  him  to  be  out  of 
my  sight  at  once,  and  whilst  he  slunk  off,  the  epicier 
lowered  the  basket  by  means  of  a  thin  line,  whilst  I, 
with  some  difficulty,  got  aboard. 

I  had  to  wash  my  hands  in  methylated  spirits  before 

I  could  handle  the  stores,  and  then  the  epicier  hauled 

up  his  basket,  and  wishing  me  bon  voyage.,  I  was  left 

172 


xxii  Fecamp  [Preparing  for  the  Crossing) 
alone.  All  that  I  had  so  carefully  arranged  for  a  snug 
sleep  was  upset  by  the  negligence  of  the  wretched 
dwarf  I  was  too  tired  to  arrange  it  all  again,  so  I 
just  threw  myself  down  anyhow  and  slept  until  11.45 
P.M.,  when  the  alarm  clock  made  me  turn  out  and  get 
up  the  sails. 


173 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

Crossing   the  Channel 

By  the  time  I  had  got  the  sails  set  and  all  ready  it 
was  midnight.  In  the  harbour  the  sluggish  water 
showed  no  signs  of  wind,  and  the  sails  hung  limp,  but 
away  upon  the  heights  of  the  cliff  the  trees  could  be 
heard  hissing  under  the  press  of  a  fine  breeze. 

I  cast  off  my  two  warps,  and  rather  than  climb 
that  greasy  ladder  I  left  them  hanging  to  the  quay, 
and  the  half-dozen  fenders  which  protected  the  side 
of  the  yacht  were  so  sodden  with  the  grease  that  I 
pitched  them  overboard,  and  shipping  one  of  the  row- 
locks in  the  flagstaff  fitting  upon  the  taffrail,  I  slowly 
sculled  her  out.  Half-an-hour  had  gone  before  I  felt 
the  gentle  heave  of  the  sea  coming  up  between  the 
dismal  jetties. 

The  tide  has  a  little  habit  of  setting  across  the 
entrances  of  nearly  all  the  harbours  on  this  coast  at 
a  terrific  rate,  and  but  a  little  way  from  the  eastern 
jetty  end  is  a  mass  of  rocks  and  boulders,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  which  the  flood-tide  sets.  So  you  can  well 
imagine,  with  such  fluky  wind  as  the  huge  Fagnet 
point  permitted  me  to  have,  how  I  hugged  the  western 
jetty.     The  sea  was  breaking  heavily  upon  the  piers 

174 


xxiii  Crossing  the  Channel 

and  all  around  the  entrance  as  I  passed  the  end  of 
the  shorter  jetty,  and  in  spite  of  my  caution  I  found 
the  tide  carrying  me  rapidly  on  to  the  dangers. 

However,  there  is  a  kind  of  Ju  Jitsu  connected 
with  the  working  of  a  tide,  by  which  its  very  strength 
may  be  turned  against  its  evil  intentions  in  one's  own 
favour.  For  instance,  if  the  course  of  the  tide  is  seen 
to  be  taking  one  straight  towards  a  danger,  and  the 
boat  has  a  little  weigh,  by  turning  your  vessel's  nose 
towards  the  rush  of  water  and  about  forty-five  degrees 
athwart  it,  the  vessel  will  be  carried  more  or  less 
athwart  the  tide  according  to  the  rate  of  weigh  she 
is  under  at  the  time  ;  but  should  the  amount  of  weigh 
be  insufficient,  by  dropping  the  anchor  over  so  that 
it  just  drags  along  the  bottom  of  the  tide-way  and 
steering  the  boat  to  forty-five  degrees,  she  will  be 
found  to  be  moved  by  the  tide  in  a  direction  forty- 
five  degrees  away  from  the  lineal  direftion  of  the  tide. 

I  had,  however,  enough  weigh  upon  this  occasion 
to  scrape  clear,  and  by  the  time  I  had  got  beyond 
the  jetty,  I  was  in  the  wind,  which  sent  me  bowling 
along  at  a  fine  rate.  I  found  I  could  just  lay  the 
course  for  Newhaven  with  \  point  to  spare,  the  wind 
coming  from  the  N.E.  true.  Thus  the  boat  would 
be  able  to  sail  by  herself  and  fetch,  without  my  touch- 
ing tiller  or  sheet,  once  the  jib  was  brought  clew  to 
the  mast.  There  would  be  a  lee-going  tide,  which 
of  course  would  take  me  to  leeward,  and  a  tide  and 
a  bit  that  would  shove  me  up  to  windward  ;  and  as 
I  reckoned  the  trip  would  take  from  fifteen  to  eighteen 

175 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine      xxiii 

hours,  I  ought  to  fetch  well  to  windward  of  New- 
haven  by  merely  sailing  upon  the  magnetic  bearing 
of  the  two  places  N.  \  E. 

Thus  I  had  nothing  to  worry  about  unless  the  wind 
changed.  I  was  eating  well  to  windward,  to  judge  by 
the  Fecamp  jetty  lights,  and  the  little  yacht  proudly 
spurned  the  white  combers  as  they  raced  out  of  the 
black  night  towards  her  side.  But  for  these  white 
patches  one  would  think  one  was  sailing  upon  nothing 
but  a  darker  portion  of  sky,  such  is  the  effe6l  of  night 
sailing,  save  for  the  tumbling  motion  of  the  boat.  I 
gazed  astern  at  this  interesting  coast  that  was  fading 
into  the  night,  until  I  caught  sight  of  d'Antifer  light- 
house away  down  the  coast,  where  its  flashes  seemed 
much  dimmer  than  I  should  have  thought,  for  it 
could  not  have  been  more  than  fourteen  nautical  miles 
away  when  it  opened,  and  its  range,  as  I  have  already 
said,  is  supposed  to  be  twenty-seven  miles.  Then 
taking  a  good  look  round  the  dim  horizon  for  those 
smeary  patches  that  indicate  possible  ships,  and  seeing 
that  the  red  and  green  side-lights  of  the  yacht  still 
shone  upon  the  spray,  I  turned  in  upon  the  lee  bunk, 
first  setting  the  alarm  so  that  it  would  wake  me  in 
half-an-hour  should  I  drop  off  to  sleep.  It  was  very 
snug  and  warm  in  the  cabin,  but  I  could  not  sleep  in 
spite  of  the  very  dull  book  I  tried  to  send  myself  off 
with.  The  half-hour  soon  passed,  and  I  got  into  the 
well  to  have  a  look  round.  The  compass  was  the 
first  thing  I  looked  at.  The  needle  was  half  a  point 
away  from  the  lubber's  line — the  yacht  was  dead  on 

176 


xxiii  Crossing  the  Channel 

the  course,  and  she  was  keeping  it  a  good  deal  better 
than  /  could  have  done  had  I  been  at  the  tiller. 

Straining  my  eyes  I  could  just  now  and  then  see 
very  faintly  the  d'Antifer  light.  There  was  nothing 
else  in  sight  ;  no  ships,  no  land,  nor  anything  save 
the  flashing  light  to  remind  me  of  land. 

Once  more  I  set  the  alarm  and  turned  in  ;  this  time 
I  slept,  for  the  first  sound  of  the  alarm  seemed  to  be 
the  grinding  crash  of  a  steamer's  stem  smashing  into 
the  side  of  the  Mave  '^RJioe.  Very  relieved  I  was,  you 
may  be  sure,  to  find  it  only  a  dream.  I  had  another 
look  round  ;  upon  my  lee  bow,  some  eight  or  nine 
miles  away,  was  a  big  steamer.  I  could  not  see  her 
lights  at  first,  but  presently  her  mast-head  light  bit 
into  my  straining  eyes,  and  then  her  green  side-light. 
She  would  evidently  cross  my  bows,  so  I  had  to  wait 
until  I  was  clear  of  her  before  I  could  do  any  more 
resting  inside.  It  was  bitterly  cold,  for  the  wind 
was  very  fresh  from  the  north-east.  Anyhow  I  could 
eat,  and  I  was  in  the  middle  of  a  chunk  of  bread 
and  cheese  by  the  time  the  steamer  cleared  me  about 
one  and  a  half  miles  ahead. 

I  could  no  longer  see  the  d'Antifer  light.  The 
blue  night  was  beginning  to  pale,  and  presently  the 
sky  began  to  grow  a  warm  grey,  and  the  sea  that  the 
night  had  hidden  was  beginning  to  show  its  ugly 
teeth,  and  about  3.40  a.m.  it  began  to  reflect  the  dove- 
colour  of  the  coming  dawn. 

I  was  the  only  thing  in  sight,  there  was  no  sound 
save  the  boiling  hiss  of  the  sea  and  the  whistle  of  the 

177  M 


From  the  T'hames  to  the  Seine      xxiii 

wind  playing  its  tarantella  upon  the  orchestra  of 
shrouds,  halyards,  and  loose  ropes  that  hung  from  the 
mast.  The  swinging  candle  still  spread  a  warm  glow 
in  the  cabin,  and  I  returned  to  its  snugness,  until  the 
sun,  glinting  through  the  starboard  porthole,  fetched 
me  out  to  see  it  rise.  The  dawn  was  grey,  which 
was  good  ;  but  there  was  a  little  patch  of  pink,  and 
the  blue  above  was  leaden,  both  of  which  meant 
more  wind. 

Anyhow,  whatever  came  now,  I  had  to  go  through 
it,  and  expelling  to  have  it  pretty  bad,  I  got  the 
Primus  Stove  under  weigh,  and  its  pleasant  buzz, 
together  with  the  splutter  of  the  bacon  and  the 
crackle  of  the  eggs,  were  ample  compensation  for 
the  difficulty  of  keeping  the  pan  and  myself  balanced. 
Once  the  whole  lot  took  a  run  jump,  and  I  fell  with 
my  hand  in  an  ^%%->  for  the  seas  were  very  steep. 
When  this  was  cooked  and  eaten  I  made  a  large 
kettleful  of  tea,  which,  together  with  milk  and  sugar 
and  a  tablespoonful  of  brandy,  I  bottled,  for  I  have 
always  found  cold  tea  the  very  best  thing  to  drink 
under  the  strain  of  a  long  stretch  at  sea.  I  know  it 
sounds  awful,  but  it  is  really  quite  a  pleasant  drink 
with  a  nip  of  brandy  in  it. 

After  this  I  had  a  good  swig  at  the  halyards,  and 
a  general  tidy-up  inside. 

Meanwhile  the  sea  was  getting  up  :  big  swells 
were  coming  from  the  windward,  but  the  boat  was 
riding  them  like  a  duck.  And  if  a  shiver  ran 
through  her  whole  fabric  as  she  descended  the  steep 

178 


xxiii  Crossing  the  Channel 

hills  of  indigo,  it  was  only  as  a  duck  would  shake 
itself. 

So  far  very  little  water  had  come  through  the  decks 
and  what  there  was  in  the  bilge  I  pumped  out,  for  this 
is  one  of  the  many  little  things,  the  doing  of  which 
wile  away  the  time  when  sailing  alone,  and  the  habit 
of  leaving  nothing  undone  which  might  be  done,  is  one 
which  should  be  cultivated.  Not  only  does  this  occupy 
the  mind,  but  if  you  get  caught  so  that  you  can't  do 
it,  the  little  thing  you  have  left  undone  will  loom  big 
in  importance  and  will  be  sure  to  stand  on  its  back  legs 
and  jeer  at  you.  So  in  anticipation  of  the  blow  which 
the  leaden  sky  told  me  was  sure  to  come,  I  looked  at 
every  bit  of  gear  and  satisfied  myself  that  it  was  all 
right.  So  far  the  gear,  which  was  all  new,  had  held  : 
I  had  carried  away  nothing,  but  doubtless  if  I  had 
not  kept  an  eye  on  it,  something  would  have  parted. 

Upon  the  very  edge  of  the  horizon  I  sighted  a  large 
tramp  making  down  Channel;  but  there  was  nothing 
else  to  be  seen.  Soon  after  this,  at  about  8  a.m.,  the 
sea  began  to  look  in  texture  like  the  skin  of  an  elephant 
showing  little  ridges  upon  the  surface  of  the  waves, 
and  the  crests  broke  more  often  and  very  heavily  ;  the 
lee  deck  was  awash,  and  it  began  to  let  water  in  rather 
badly.  Half-an-hour  later  the  surface  of  the  sea  was 
striped  with  long  ribbons  of  spindrift  and  big  white 
breakers  were  all  around,  the  light  through  the  crests 
of  the  dark  blue-black  waves  turned  the  tips  of  them 
to  emerald-green,  and  the  underside  of  the  feathery 

spray  was  a  paler  shade  of  the  same  hue  ;  the  wet  sails 

179 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine      xxiii 

at  the  lee-side  refle6ted  the  green  which  softenedjnto 
the  bellying  tan-coloured  canvas  like  shot  silk.  I  stood 
upon  the  cabin  top  and  looked  ahead,  for  I  ought  soon 
to  be  sighting  Beachy  Head.  I  could  not,  however,  see 
anything  but  the  savage  details  of  the  water  ;  those 
myriads  of  white  patches  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see 
from  which  trailed  grey  curved  lines  of  hissing  suds, 
which  marked  definitely  the  shape  of  each  wave  as  it 
gradually  faded  into  thin  films  of  minute  bubbles.  It 
was  a  wild  scene,  and  a  month  previously  I  should  not 
have  liked  the  idea  of  being  in  the  centre  of  it  in  a 
4-tonner,  but  my  little  craft  had  inspired  me  with 
confidence  in  her  prowess,  and  my  admiration  of  her 
and  the  memory  of  what  we  had  gone  through  to- 
gether made  me  feel  afterwards  rather  ashamed  of  the 
anxiety  I  felt  whilst  getting  down  a  reef.  Getting 
down  a  reef  in  mid-Channel  in  a  big  jump  is  not  the 
comparatively  comfortable  kind  of  thing  it  is  in  the 
Thames  estuary,  Burnham  way,  as  many  Burnham 
men  will  agree.  In  the  middle  of  these  huge  tumbling 
hills  of  water,  the  risk  of  being  pitched  overboard  was 
great ;  and  though  I  must  admit  there  was  none  of  that 
anxiety  with  regard  to  sea-room  that  there  is  in  the 
Thames  district — where  channels  are  narrow  and  sand- 
banks abound — here  in  this  wide  expanse  the  appal- 
ling loneliness  was  insisted  upon.  In  the  Thames 
estuary,  seldom  is  the  seaboard  devoid  of  its  crowds 
of  ships  and  barges.  There  even  the  sight  of  one  of  the 
many  buoys  gives  a  feeling  of  company  ;  and  though 
the  chances  of  being  picked  up,  in  that  distrift,  should 

180 


xxiii  Crossing  the  Channel 

one  be  pitched  overboard,  would  probably  be  as  remote 
as  in  this  shipless  waste,  this  feeling  of  "  company  " 
carries  with  it  one  of  those  unreasoned  comforts  that 
the  human  heart  hugs  to  itself. 

I  tried  to  hoist  the  boom,  but  the  single  part  top- 
ping-lift was  useless,  the  pressure  of  wind  upon  the 
bellying  sail  prevented  its  working.  Every  now  and 
then  a  smother  of  spray  would  take  my  breath  away, 
as  its  weight  pressed  me  against  the  mast.  How  cold 
it  felt.  My  hands,  which  were  hardened  by  the 
strenuous  work  of  the  past  three  weeks,  were  now 
crinkled  with  the  wet  like  an  old  washerwoman's. 
That  topping-lift  had  to  be  got  home  before  I  could 
reef  and  the  boat  was  wallowing  until  the  water  was 
up  to  the  portholes,  so  I  hurriedly  fixed  a  small 
"  handy  billy  "  tackle  and  got  it  home  with  that.  By 
this  time  I  was  pretty  well  out  of  breath,  and  after  I 
had  paid  off  the  halyards,  I  had  a  little  rest,  the  boat 
being  eased  by  the  loosened  canvas,  which  every  now 
and  then  would  flap  loudly  as  though  it  would  fly  to 
ribbons. 

Rested  sufficiently,  I  got  the  tack  down  and  then 
the  earing  home,  but  I  could  not  get  the  reef  points, 
and  I  must  say  that  with  eyelet  lacing  I  could  have 
done  the  work  that  these  wretchedly  primitive  bits 
of  thin  cord  would  not  permit  me  to  do.  However, 
I  left  the  foot  of  the  sail  loose.  It  bellied  from  the 
boom  and  every  now  and  then  had  to  be  relieved  of 
the  weight  of  water,  which,  from  the  tattoo  of  spray, 
drained  in  solid  streams  down  the  sail.     All  this  while 


i»i 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine     xxiii 

the  boat  had  sailed  by  herself  and  showed  no  inclina- 
tion to  pay  off  or  luff.  But  dear  !  oh  dear,  the  cabin  ! 
Through  the  roof  and  the  decks  water  was  dripping 
in  streams  like  a  shower-bath  ;  the  floor-boards  were 
floating  about  and  the  wholeplacewas  in  a  terrible  mess. 
I  set  to  work  at  the  pump,  thanking  my  stars  that 
the  boat  would  sail  by  herself.  The  water  was  gain- 
ing upon  the  pump  !  This  contraption  was  an  evil 
affair  that  was  at  the  mercy  of  any  bit  of  dirt  or  a 
match  stalk,  either  of  which  would  prevent  it  working 
properly.  Then  the  longing  for  a  sight  of  land  took 
hold  of  me,  but  there  was  nothing  in  sight,  though 
the  boat  was  dead  on  the  course  whenever  I  looked 
at  the  compass.  For  a  whole  hour  I  bailed  with  an 
enamelled  pan,  and  I  could  only  just  keep  the  water 
from  gaining  upon  me. 

But  after  a  while  the  water  began  to  lower  and  the 
sea  was  less  cruel,  and  the  boat  was  no  longer  dipping 
her  deck  in.  I  was  so  absorbed  in  the  work  of  bail- 
ing that  I  had  forgotten  all  else,  but  glancing  upon 
the  starboard  bow,  I  saw  one  of  the  finest  sights  I 
have  ever  seen.  There,  bowling  along  in  the  heavy 
sea,  stately,  and  with  the  grace  of  a  massive  bird,  was 
a  four-masted  sailing-ship.  What  a  grand  sight  it 
was.  Her  sails,  turned  cream  in  the  glowing  sun- 
shine, silhouetted  themselves  against  the  lead  blue 
sky  ;  the  pale  mauve-coloured  shadows  whose  grada- 
tions showed  the  press  of  wind  at  each  seam  of  the 
canvas  ;  the  spider  web  of  rigging  ;  the  splatter  of 

white  blocks,  her  rusty  sides,  and  the  huge  white, 

182 


xxiii  Crossing  the  Channel 

snowy,  cold-looking  bow  wave,  upon  which  the  sun 
cast  the  shadow  of  her  towering  bowsprit,  her  jibs, 
the  dolphin  striker,  the  "  whiskers,"  and  all  the  mass 
of  gear  that  goes  with  it.  Never  shall  I  forget  the 
sight  of  that  ship.  There  was  a  little  knot  of  men 
upon  the  poop,  who,  with  glasses,  stared  at  me.  They 
doubtless  thought  I  was  a  blithering  idiot  to  be  there, 
for  the  deep-sea  man's  idea  of  fun  at  sea  is  expressed 
by  the  proverb  :  "  He  who  goes  to  sea  for  pleasure 
would  go  to  hell  for  pastime." 

However  I  crossed  her  bow,  and,  looking  ahead, 
there  was  the  landfall  at  last — the  cream-coloured 
top  of  Beachy  Head — but  it  was  a  good  fourteen 
miles  away,  which  made  at  least  three  hours  and  a 
half  longer  to  go. 

Another  hour  and  I  was  in  the  thick  of  the  ship 
track,  where  steam-tramps  and  liners  were  churning 
their  way  up  and  down  the  Channel.  As  the  wind 
had  gradually  settled  down  to  a  smart  whole  main- 
sail breeze  I  shook  out  the  reef  and  scudded  along  at 
a  fine  rate.  I  could  now  see  the  row  of  white  cliffs 
known  as  the  Seven  Sisters,  but  could  not  make 
anything  of  the  lowland  farther  down  the  coast, 
where  I  knew  Newhaven  lay.  I  was  well  to  wind- 
ward of  it  anyhow,  but  the  tide  would  soon  be 
setting  down  Channel  in  that  direftion,  so  I  held  on 
the  course. 

Every  moment  the  seas  were  getting  less  as  nearer 
and  nearer  I  drew  to  those  dear  white  walls  that 
marked  my  native  land.     I  crave  no  forgiveness  for 

183 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine     xxiii 

the  sentiment,  for  while  I  write  I  remember  the 
saturated  rat  I  was  at  the  time,  and  I  claim  to  have 
been  neither  more  nor  less  sentimental  about  those 
cliffs  than  you  or  the  next  best  man  would  have  been 
under  all  the  circumstances,  and  I  could  have  thrown 
my  cap  in  the  air  when  I  caught  sight  of  a  couple  of 
yachts  making  for  the  same  port  down  the  edge  of 
the  cliffs.  They  looked  very  tiny  in  the  distance, 
but  they  were  obviously  in  reality  much  bigger  than 
my  little  packet  ;  but  for  these  I  should  have  thought 
I  was  much  nearer  the  land,  and  as  the  tide  was  now 
setting  me  upon  the  meridian  of  about  two  points 
from  the  course,  I  should  only  just  get  in.  I  had 
another  hour  of  it,  and  with  an  ever-decreasing  wind 
I  got  into  shallow  water  and  shot  between  the  piers 
of  Newhaven  Harbour  at  4  p.m.  (August  8th). 

I  had  been  sailing  sixteen  hours,  and  had  reeled 
off  sixty-four  nautical  miles,  or  about  seventy-three 
statute  miles,  quite  two-thirds  of  which  the  boat  had 
done  by  herself,  and  I  fully  believe  that  if  I  had  set 
her  off  at  Fecamp  by  herself,  with  the  wind  and  tide 
conditions  I  had,  she  would  have  fetched  within  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  of  Newhaven  piers. 

Passing  the  inner  jetty,  the  harbour  official  asked 
a  second  time  where  I  was  from,  when  I  told  him 
1  was  from  Fecamp,  and  he  then  said,  "  Oh,  you 
mean  Feekamp." 

As  the  wind  and  tide  were  dead  against  me  I  had 

a   struggle   to  get  up  to  the  berthing-station  ;    one 

of  the  big  yachts  gave  it  up  and  started  tracking,  and 

184 


xxiii  Crossing  the  Chanfiel 

I  overtook  the  other.  Then  I  was  hailed  by  the 
Customs  officers.  "  Where  are  you  from,  Sir  t  " 
they  asked,  and  when  I  told  them,  they  reminded  me 
firmly,  but  gently,  that  I  wasn't  showing  my  ensign. 
"  I  am  sorry,"  I  apologised,  "  but  I  am  so  tired  I 
forgot  all  about  it."  "  All  right.  Sir,  stick  it  up  now, 
and  we'll  come  across  to  you  presently."  I  soon 
spotted  a  good  berth,  and  was  getting  a  rope  ready, 
when  a  puff  of  wind  came  and  gave  the  boat  such  a 
rate  of  speed  that  she  ran  her  bowsprit  into  the  pier 
before  I  could  get  to  the  tiller.  Luckily  she  took  it 
a  little  to  one  side,  and  did  no  more  damage  than  to 
snap  off  the  spar.  This  was  the  climax.  I  was  soon 
afterwards  berthed  ;  and  then  cleared  by  the  ex- 
ceedingly agreeable  chief  Customs  officer  who,  when 
I  thanked  him  for  several  little  matters  to  which  he 
attended  for  me,  explained  that  it  was  Sunday,  and 
being  a  day  of  rest,  he  and  his  men  were  only  too 
glad  of  a  little  occupation  beyond  their  mere  duty. 


i8s 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

Anti-Climax 

I  SPENT  the  following  day  lounging  whilst  the  man  I 
had  engaged  to  remove  the  filth  of  Fecamp  alternately 
worked  and  muttered  sweet  nothings  at  the  tenacity 
of  the  grease  that  was  upon  the  Mave  '^BJiois  side. 

I  had  also  had  a  new  bowsprit  fitted,  and  a  boy 
had  cleaned  up  the  cabin,  lamps,  stove,  crockery,  &c. 
The  latter  was  the  more  necessary,  because  I  was  to 
be  joined  by  my  wife  and  our  two  small  boys — the 
Skipper's  wife  and  the  First  and  Second  Mites — for 
the  trip  round  to  London. 

It  was  rather  a  squeeze  to  sleep  the  four  in  so  small 
a  craft,  but  with  a  little  ingenuity  in  arranging  beds 
for  the  two  boys  up  for'ard  of  the  mast,  I  succeeded 
in  making  them  comfortable  for  the  night. 

The   dawn  was   perfe6t  in  its   indication    of  fine 

weather,  so  the  following  day  (August  loth)  we  set 

sail  at  about  lo  a.m.     The  day  overhead  was  a  warm 

blaze  of  sunshine,  but  still  that  nasty  leaden  blue  was 

upon  the  face  of  the  sky.     The  First  Mite  was  at  the 

tiller  ;  we  could  just  lay  the  course  to  Beachy  Head. 

With  a  very  light  wind  we  crawled  to  abreast  the 

lighthouse. 

i86 


xxiv  Anti-Climax 

What  a  remarkable  effect  this  towering  headland 
has  when  illumined  by  brilliant  sunshine.  Out  of  the 
delicate  blue  shadows  upon  its  pale  cream  sides,  we 
discovered  all  kinds  of  curious  shapes — faces,  animals, 
&c.  ;  one  shadow  made  a  perfeft  likeness  to  a  certain 
Cabinet  Minister.  The  First  and  Second  Mites  played 
"  I  spy  "  with  them.  We  were  becalmed  here  for  a 
little  while  and  there  was  a  big  oily  swell,  so  I  took 
the  tiller  and  sheered  off  seawards  where  I  expedted 
to  pick  up  a  breeze. 

In  the  distance  ahead  were  several  Thames  barges, 
their  red  sails  glowing  richly  in  the  sunlight  as  they 
cross-tacked  towards  Dungeness. 

By  the  time  we  had  rounded  the  headland  the 
leaden  haziness  had  increased  and  the  coast  of  the 
bay  beyond  was  entirely  obscured  by  it.  I  was 
picking  up  the  barges  fast,  and  the  wind  had  increased 
a  little.  Then  the  barge  farthest  ahead  struck  her 
jib  topsail.  "  Hullo  !  "  I  thought,  "  we're  in  for  it." 
The  next  barge  lowered  her  main  topsail.  Ominous 
signs.  The  sea  was  also  very  steep,  and  it  began  to 
break  a  little  way  ahead.  I  warned  the  crew,  and 
the  Skipper's  wife  put  on  her  oilskins.  Their  experi- 
ences of  cruising  were  limited  to  the  more  sheltered 
water  between  Harwich  and  the  Thames,  so  I  had 
great  misgivings  as  to  how  they  would  take  "  a  blow  " 
out  here.  Soon  the  wind  was  on  us,  she  buried  her 
decks  and  hissed  along  up  and  down  the  breaking 
seas.  The  First  Mite  took  shelter  from  the  spray  in 
the  cabin  and  could  not  be  induced  to  come  out  ;  the 

187 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine      xxiv 

Second  Mite  soon  had  a  wet  and  salty  face,  but 
enjoyed  it.  The  Skipper's  wife,  whom  I  had  expe6ted 
to  be  nervous,  with  feminine  inconsistency  was  so 
impressed  with  the  wild  beauty  of  the  sea  that  she 
simply  scintillated  with  apparent  high  spirits. 

I  was  beginning  to  think  it  was  about  time  to  get 
a  reef  down  when  groans  issued  from  the  cabin.  The 
First  Mite  felt  seasick.  I  persuaded  him  to  come 
outside,  and  no  sooner  had  he  put  his  head  through 
the  hatch  than  a  burst  of  spray  caught  him,  and  he 
dived  back  again  with  a  yell  into  the  shelter  of  the 
cabin.  Then  the  Skipper's  wife  spent  her  time  attend- 
ing to  the  requirements  of  the  sickly  one,  whilst  I 
got  a  reef  down.  By  the  time  this  was  done,  I  found 
the  Second  Mite  trying  to  smile  with  a  green  face. 
I  gave  him  a  rope  to  hold  on  to,  and  convinced  him 
that  he  was  doing  something  important,  which  took 
off  the  sickness  for  a  while  ;  but  eventually  he  had  to 
retire  into  the  cabin. 

Meanwhile  I  had  overtaken  and  passed  two  of  the 
barges,  and  was  fast  overhauling  the  leader.  I  had 
not  the  remotest  notion  where  I  was,  but  their  com- 
pany was  good  enough  until  out  of  the  haze  upon 
the  port  quarter  I  saw  faintly  the  Royal  Sovereign 
lightship.  Good  Heavens  !  what  slow  progress  ! 
We  should  not  be  able  to  get  into  Rye,  which  would 
mean  an  all-night  business,  and  by  then  the  tide  was 
beginning  to  slack  off. 

The  only  thing  to  do  was  to  get  the  crew  ashore 

at  Hastings,  and  go  on  alone  through  the  night.      I 

i88 


xxiv  Anti-Climax 

took  a  bearing  and  found  we  should  just  fetch  there 
upon  the  starboard  tack.  Speeding  along  a  little  to 
leeward  of  the  barge,  we  kept  company  nearly  to 
Hastings,  and  the  sea  began  to  grow  smoother  as  we 
neared  the  land.  Presently  we  could  make  out  the 
details  of  the  town,  and  after  a  while  I  dropped  anchor 
under  the  lee  of  a  stone  pier  at  the  eastern  end  of 
the  town. 

Hailing  a  boat  the  crew  went  ashore  whilst  I  got 
their  luggage  together.  I  felt  bitterly  disappointed, 
but  evidently  it  was  better  they  should  not  venture 
farther,  for  the  weather  was  not  to  be  relied  upon, 
and  it  seemed  to  be  demanding  its  pound  of  flesh 
from  me  with  the  vindiftiveness  of  a  Shylock. 

They  were  surrounded  by  a  crowd  as  they  stepped 
upon  the  pebbly  beach,  and  the  Skipper's  wife,  in 
reply  to  a  query  from  one  of  the  coastguards,  said  the 
yacht  had  come  from  France.  When  I  got  ashore 
with  the  baggage,  he  said  he  would  have  to  examine 
the  contents.  When  I  told  him  I  had  been  cleared 
at  Newhaven,  he  asked  to  see  my  papers,  but  as  they 
were  aboard  the  yacht,  he  said  he  would  take  my 
word  for  it,  and  added  he  would  not  have  troubled 
me  at  all  but  for  the  baggage. 

The  yacht  lay  snugly  where  she  was,  and  with  an 
off-shore  wind  no  better  berth  could  be  wished  for, 
except  for  the  gentle  heave  of  the  sea,  which  to  me, 
seasoned  as  I  was,  was  nothing. 

After  a  cheering  little  dinner  I  found  good  quarters 
for  the  crew  and  bade  adieu  to  them  in  case  the  wind 


From  the  Tha7nes  to  the  Seine      xxiv 

changed,  for  I  should  then  have  to  leave  my  anchorage 
and  be  off. 

However  the  wind  died  away  altogether,  and  the 
following  morning  when  I  stepped  ashore,  the  crew 
were  there  to  meet  me.  The  Skipper's  wife  an- 
nounced her  intention  of  sending  the  two  boys  back 
to  town  and  coming  with  me  alone. 

I  pointed  out  all  the  possibilities,  but  she  was  firm, 
and  the  boys,  their  misery  forgotten,  wanted  to  make 
another  start.  However  they  were  compensated  by 
the  importance  they  felt  at  making  the  journey  by 
train  alone. 

The  stores  purchased  by  the  Skipper's  wife  aboard, 
we  set  sail  at  2  p.m.  We  had  a  light  breeze  dead  aft, 
and  with  it  we  were  taken  under  spinnaker  to  Dun- 
geness.  About  an  hour  after  we  had  passed  there  it 
fell  to  a  dead  calm  and  the  sun  went  down.  I  kept 
in  the  red  zone  of  the  lighthouses,  and  although  we 
were  too  far  from  land  to  anchor,  there  was  no  tide 
there,  and  the  yacht  remained  perfeftly  still.  The 
lights  of  Folkestone  and  Dover  reflefted  themselves 
across  the  wide  stretch  of  water  down  to  the  very  edge 
of  the  boat.  Twenty-two  miles  away  the  flashes  of 
Cape  Gris  Nez  could  be  distinctly  seen. 

The  night  was  so  warm  that  the  Skipper's  wife  fell 
asleep  in  the  well,  whilst  I  listened  to  the  distant  churn- 
ing sounds  of  steamers  on  their  hurrying  progress  up 
and  down  Channel,  and  watched  the  window  lights  of 
Sandgate  and  Folkestone  go  out,  one  by  one.  I  was 
beginning  to  feel  drowsy — it  was  about  2  a.m.,  when 

190 


XXIV  Anti-Climax 

the  Skipper's  wife  awoke.  Shortly  afterwards  we  were 
busy  cooking  sausages  and  came  near  to  quarrelling 
about  the  right  shade  of  brown  that  they  should 
be  when  properly  cooked.  Soon  after  this  supper- 
cum-breakfast  was  ready,  a  little  gentle  wind  came 
ruffling  along  the  water  and  took  us  into  water 
shallow  enough  to  anchor  in,  offSandgate,  about  half 
a  mile  out. 

The  sailing  from  here  was  all  made  in  peaceful  calm 
bathed  in  warm  sunshine  ;  real  dolcefar  niente  weather 
rewarded  the  Skipper's  wife,  and  the  whole  five  days 
spent  ashore  and  afloat  during  the  journey  to  London 
contained  nothing  worth  the  telling,  save  perhaps  the 
two  following  incidents. 

It  was  about  sunset  and  we  werenearingthe  southern 
entrance  to  Dover  outer  harbour,  across  which  the  tide 
set  strongly,  when  the  wind  dropped  altogether  and 
left  us  wallowing  there  in  the  tide.  The  Skipper's 
wife  was  visibly  tired  of  our  slow  progress  from  Sand- 
gate,  and  longed  for  a  trot  ashore.  My  chart  for  Dover 
was  an  out-of-date  one  which  indicated  that  staging 
blocked  up  the  other  entrance  which  was  out  of  sight 
to  the  eastward. 

There  was  a  fog  in  the  Downs  from  whose  grey  cur- 
tain horns  and  bells  were  howling  in  exquisite  strains. 
I  tried  hard  with  my  solitary  oar  to  scull  the  yacht  in, 
but  the  tide  simply  swept  her  along  broadside.  Then 
a  steamer's  syren  howled  at  us  as  the  Ostend  boat 
circled  out  of  the  fog  right  at  us.  She  still  held  on 
in  her   circular   course   towards   us   making   for  the 

191 


From  the  T'hames  to  the  Seine      xxiv 

entrance.  We  were  entirely  at  her  mercy,  for  I  could 
do  nothing  with  the  oar,  especially  as  I  knew  notwhich 
side  of  us  she  intended  passing,  I  threw  it  down,  think- 
ing it  better  not  to  confuse  the  steamer's  helmsman 
by  any  manoeuvre  of  mine.  He  cleared  us  by  about 
eight  feet.  As  the  big  vessel  shot  past,  I  picked  up  the 
Skipper's  wife,  who  was  rather  limp,  and  put  her  out 
of  the  possibilities  of  the  wash  which  came  bounding 
along,but  instead  of  breaking  aboard, asl  half  expedted, 
it  went  under  the  yacht  as  she  met  it  on  her  quarters. 
That  was  distinctly  unpleasant,  and  if  one  took  such 
matters  too  seriously,  one  would  perhaps  give  up  sail- 
ing yachts. 

However,  I  then  had  more  to  think  about  than 
might  have  beens,  it  was  a  case  of  might  be,  for  other 
steamers  were  about  the  fog-shrouded  Downs  and  I 
did  not  relish  the  night  there,  so  I  worked  again  at 
the  oar  in  the  hopes  of  catching  a  hold  of  the  bell 
buoy  near  the  other  entrance.  But  before  I  got 
there  I  could  see  there  were  no  signs  of  staging  across 
the  entrance,  so  working  as  hard  as  possible,  I  managed 
to  pick  up  the  back  eddy  that  runs  westward  through 
this  entrance  with  the  eastern  tide,  and  carrying  us 
through  this  eddy,  took  us  to  an  anchorage  near  the 
Pavilion  Pier.  That  was  better  far  than  hanging  on 
to  the  bell  buoy  or  drifting  in  the  Downs. 

Should  this  meet  the  eye  of  any  yachtsman  likely 

to  be  placed  in  similar  circumstances  off  Dover,  a 

knowledge  of  that  back  eddy  will  save  a  good  deal 

of  anxiety,  and  though  it  is  spoken  of  in  the  Admiralty 

192 


'4 


fi 


xxiv  A7tti-Cli7nax 

Sailing  Directions,  too  much  stress  cannot  be  laid 
upon  its  usefulness  for  yachtsmen. 

The  second  incident  took  place  in  the  night,  whilst 
anchored  nearthe  Chapman  Lighthouse  in  theThames 
awaiting  the  flood  tide,  where,  in  anticipation  of  fog, 
I  had  brought  up  in  shallow  water,  so  that  nothing 
big  could  get  near  us. 

We  were  aroused  out  of  our  sleep  by  four  loud 
blasts,  evidently  from  a  big  steamer  quite  near  by. 
This  indicated  that  she  was  going  to  bring  up,  and 
as  I  climbed  out,  her  cable  chain  rattled  loudly,  and 
her  anchor  splashed  over  her  side.  I  could  see  nothing 
but  my  own  shadow  thrown  from  the  riding-light 
upon  the  wreathing  clouds  of  fog.  Presently,  how- 
ever, towering  above  us,  I  saw  the  faint  glimmer  of 
a  white  light  which  was  swinging  round  in  our 
direction.  Had  we  dragged  our  anchor  .?  I  wondered, 
and  rushing  for  the  frying-pan  I  commenced  to  bang 
away  at  it.  This  fetched  out  the  Skipper's  wife, 
who  with  the  fog-horn  blew  two  huge  blasts.  "  Shut 
up  !  "  I  shouted,  as  I  hurriedly  snatched  it  from  her  ; 
"  that  means  we  are  sailing  upon  the  port  tack  !  " 

When  the  steamer's  stern,  upon  which  the  light 
was  fixed,  had  swung  round  well  clear  of  us,  I  received 
a  lefture  from  the  Skipper's  wife  upon  the  subject  of 
politeness,  and  once  again  asleep  I  dreamt  that  the 
Morse  Code  had  had  another  clause  added  to  it,  to 
the  effed:  that  when  the  Skipper's  wife  is  aboard,  the 
signals  should  not  have  the  same  significance. 


193 


CONCLUSION 

Ultimately  we  arrived  at  Hammersmith,  after  a 
tedious  crawl  up  the  river  Thames. 

The  yacht  had  covered  many  miles,  she  had  carried 
me  safely  into  some  delightful  places,  and  I  had  seen 
many  quaint  persons  and  things.  However  much  a 
man  may  know  about  the  ways  of  the  sea,  there  is 
always  more  to  learn,  and  it  is  just  this  that  makes 
sailing  the  finest  sport  in  the  world.  I  had  had  the 
opportunity  of  learning  much,  but  I  had  not  learnt 
enough  to  not  want  to  go  through  it  again,  bad 
weather  and  all  included. 

Doubtless  the  voyage  was  a  big  undertaking  for  so 
small  a  yacht,  but  in  spite  of  absolutely  adverse  cir- 
cumstances, it  was  most  successful. 

There  will  be  some  who,  having  read  this  book, 
will  think  I  ought  to  thank  my  lucky  stars  I  arrived 
safely  through  the  voyage.  I  do,  and  I  shall  do  the 
same  about  the  next  voyage,  but  t  shall  trust  luck  as 
much  as  I  did  on  this  one — that  is,  not  at  all. 

There  will  be  others — those  lucky  ones  who  are 

not  limited  as  to  the  time  they  may  spend  upon  a 

cruise — who  will  think  me  foolish  for  putting  to  sea 

upon  days  when  passages  were  inevitably  comfortless. 

194 


Conclusion 

I  was  limited  in  the  matter  of  time,  but  if  I  had  not 
been,  it  would  still  have  been  the  same,  for  personally 
I  think  the  ideal  form  of  cruising  is  to  stick  to  a  time- 
sheet,  letting  flat  calms  be  the  only  things  to  stop  one 
in  the  way  of  weather.  Which  system  puts  one  in 
a  fair  way  of  experiencing  the  whole  gamut  of  the 
sport,  from  those  sombre  days  with  their  wild  ex- 
hilaration to  those  sunnv  ones  which  we  all  love, 
vs^ith  their  balmy,  healthful  languor. 

Others,  those  hardy  spirits  who  never  know  fear 
themselves,  will  find  passages — those  anxious  moments 
— which  may  raise  a  smile.  Let  them  smile,  for 
those  who  know  not  fear  know  not  the  sea,  and  I 
can  smile  a  happier  smile,  for  I  do  know  a  little  of 
the  sea. 

There  are  others  who  look  upon  these  accounts  of 
cruises  as  a  glorified  form  of  brag.  Perhaps  they 
read  like  that,  for  buoyant  spirits  are  apt  to  bubble 
over  in  the  memory  of  strenuous  days.  But  surely  a 
man  finds  little  to  brag  about  whilst  battling  with 
the  awe-inspiring  sea,  and  the  more  I  see  it  the  less 
I  trust  it,  but  the  greater  is  my  love  for  it,  and  the 
stronger  is  its  call. 


195 


APPENDIX 

SAILING  DIRECTIONS  FROM  RAMSGATE  VlA 
CALAIS  AND  THE  COAST  PORTS  TO  LE 
HAVRE 

FRENCH   SYSTEM   OF  BUOYAGE 

The  following  uniform  system  of  buoyage  and  beacons  has  been 
adopted  on  the  coasts  of  France. 

All  the  buoys  and  beacons  are  characterised  by  colour,  and  by  the 
form  of  topmark.  The  term  starboard  means  the  right-hand  side 
approaching  from  seaward  ;  the  term  port  means  the  left-hand  side. 
The  term  separation  of  channels  is  given  to  the  marks  placed  at  the 
seaward  extreme  of  middle  grounds  ;  those  at  the  inshore  extreme 
are  named  junction  ofchanne/s  marks.  The  marks  on  shoals  of  small 
extent  are  named  isolated  danger  marks. 


ILLUSTRATIONS   OF   THE   SYSTEM 
(Black  signifies  ^/flf,^.)  (Shading  signifies  ^^oT.)  ( Blank  signifies  White.) 


Port  hand  buoys. 


tq6 


Starboard  hand  buoys. 


endtx 


Buoys  and  beacons  indicating  separation 
of  channels. 


Buoys  indicating  junction  of 
channels. 


Buoys  and  beacons  indicating  isolated  dangers. 


RAMSGATE   TO    CALAIS 

With  a  S.W.  (true)  wind,  and  if  a  calm  and  quick  passage 
is  desired,  choose  to  cross  the  Channel  with  the  eastern 
stream.  Leave  Ramsgate  for  South  Sand  Head  Light-ship  at 
four  hours  before  high  water,  taking  Gull  Stream  for  the 
strongest  tide.  Pass  Black  Conical,  and  B.  and  W,  Can 
Buoys,  to  starboard.  Keep  them  bearing  one  on  the  other 
until  they  are  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  astern.  Then  set 
course  for  South  Goodwin  Light-vessel.  With  S.W.  (true) 
breeze,  the  vessel  should  lay  the  course,  which  is  S.  by  W., 
for  the  tide  will  set  her  well  upon  it. 

Off  the  S.W.  Goodwin  B.  Buoy,  take  the  time,  and  if  there 
two  hours  before  high  water  at  Dover,  the  South  Goodwin 

197 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine 

Light-vessel  will  be  reached  at  the  best  time  for  the  de- 
parture, the  easterly  stream  will  then  have  commenced. 

From  South  Goodwin  to  Calais  course  is  S.E.  \  S.  If  it  is 
a  neap  tide,  upon  a  speed  through  the  water  of  4  knots 
per  hour  it  will  be  necessary  to  allow  at  least  if  points  for 
the  tide ;  or  at  springs  3  points.  Thus  the  course  to  steer 
at  neaps  will  be  S.  by  E.  \  E,  and  at  springs  S.  \  E.  Upon 
either  of  these  courses,  when  half-way  across,  should  the 
land  be  sighted,  it  will  seem  as  though  the  vessel  were  sail- 
ing straight  for  Cape  Blanc  Nez,  and  Calais  will  seem  a  great 
way  to  leeward  ;  but  should  one  turn  off  one's  course  in  its 
diredion,  the  vessel  will  never  fetch  Calais.  By  watching 
carefully  one  will  find  the  tide  setting  the  vessel  in  the 
diredtion  of  Calais,  away  from  Blanc  Nez. 

Keep  well  to  windward  of  the  western  jetty  until  the 
vessel,  carried  by  the  beam  tide,  nearly  touches  it,  then  bear 
quickly  away  to  clear  it  and  shoot  in.  When  inside  there 
will  not  be  much  tide  to  contend  against.  Follow  the 
eastern  jetty  until,  upon  sighting  the  dock-gates,  a  little 
to  one's  right  of  them  will  be  seen  the  pilot  vessels.  Drop 
anchor  in  line  with  their  bowsprit  ends  and  well  clear  of 
the  line  of  the  dock  entrance,  and  take  a  stern  warp  ashore. 
This  is  a  comfortable  berth  with  landing-steps,  but  should 
the  wind  turn  northerly,  it  will  be  well  to  go  into  dock, 
for  a  sea  tumbles  in  with  that  wind. 

When  entering  at  night  a  red  light  will  have  to  be  shown, 
and  by  day  the  ensign  ;  either  of  which  should  be  left  ex- 
posed until  the  Douaniers  (Customs  officers)  come  aboard. 


CALAIS  TO   BOULOGNE 

Leaving  Calais  Jetty  heads  at  4I-  hours  after  high  water, 
the    safest    course    is    to    make    for   the  B.    Buoy   No.    i, 

198 


Appe7idix 

which  bears  W.  by  N.  \  N.  (3  miles),  for  there  is  a  shoal 
patch  of  one  fathom  inshore,  on  to  which  the  tide  sets 
strongly. 

From  this  buoy,  which  may  be  passed  upon  the  starboard 
hand,  a  Red  Mirror  Buoy  bears  S.S.W.  \  W.  (2|  miles). 
This  marks  the  edge  of  the  Ridens  des  Quenocs,  upon  which 
there  is  a  least  depth  of  one  fathom,  and  always  a  rough 
sea.  From  this  buoy,  which  should  be  passed  upon  the 
port  hand,  a  course  S.W.  by  W.  f  W.  (6  miles)  will  clear 
Cape  Gris  Nez,  leaving  No.  2  Red  Buoy,  which  marks 
La  Barrier  Shoals,  upon  the  port. 

Rounding  Cape  Gris  Nez  when  the  lighthouse  bears 
upon  the  quarter,  a  course  S.S.W.  f  S,  (8  miles)  will  lead 
into  the  outer  harbour  of  Boulogne.  Passing  the  B. 
and  W.  Bell  Buoy,  which  marks  the  Bassure  de  Baas  about 
f  mile  to  starboard,  Ambleteuse  Road  will  be  entered. 
Here  a  very  steep  sea  is  caused  by  a  weather-going  tide. 
The  entrance  to  Boulogne  should  not  be  attempted  at  low 
water  until  the  tall  Colonne  de  la  Grande  Armee  is  well 
open  of  Creche  Point,  and  it  would  be  well  to  stand  on 
until  you  can  see  right  up  between  the  jetties,  for  there  is 
a  patch  of  only  a  fathom  to  the  north-eastward  of  the 
entrance. 

Yachts  should  bring  up  temporarily  at  the  Iron  Mooring 
Buoy,  to  which  the  pilot  vessels  moor  ;  it  lies  upon  the 
starboard  hand,  where  the  harbour  commences  to  widen 
out  from  the  jetties,  and  almost  in  line  with  the  inner 
end  of  the  S.E.  jetty.  It  is  within  warping  distance  of 
the  entrance  to  the  Bassin  a  flot  or  wet  dock.  If  staying 
any  length  of  time,  it  is  advisable  to  go  into  dock.  The 
charge,  if  any,  is  very  little. 


199 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine 


BOULOGNE   TO   ETAPLES 

With  a  head  wind  set  off  so  that  the  entrance  to  the  Canche 
will  be  reached  at  about  \\  hours  before  high  water. 
Leaving  the  jetty  ends,  make  to  pass  between  the  outer 
breakwater,  one  mile  distant,  and  the  Whistling  Buoy. 
From  there  a  course  S.S.W.  f  S.  (12  miles)  will  lead  past 
Cape  I'Alprech  (from  whence  the  coast  commences  to  be 
low  lying)  to  the  Black  Spindle  Buoy,  which  marks  the 
northern  edge  of  the  estuary  of  the  Canche.  About  a  mile 
farther  south  is  a  Red  Bell  Buoy  which  marks  the  southern 
edge.  Heave  to  between  these  buoys  for  an  hour,  and  see 
that  the  tide  does  not  set  the  yacht  farther  in  than  their 
line,  or  she  will  be  embayed,  and  see  also  that  the  current 
along  shore  does  not  set  her  farther  north  than  the  Black 
Spindle  Buoy,  or  she  will  have  difficulty  in  regaining  her 
position.  After  waiting  until  half-an-hour  before  high 
water,  the  water  will  have  risen  sufficiently  to  allow  of 
the  entrance.  The  sailing  diredlions  tell  of  two  channels 
leading  to  Camiers  Lighthouse,  but  no  diredlions  are  to  be 
relied  upon  when  they  say,  as  they  do  here,  that  vessels 
should  not  enter  without  a  pilot.  And  indeed  the  sands 
shift  so  extensively  that  the  only  safe  guide  is  the  system 
of  buoyage.  The  best  water  is  to  be  found  at  first  upon 
a  line  midway  between  the  two  outer  buoys  and  Camiers 
Lighthouse,  a  square  white  tower  which  bears  from  that 
position  E.  \  N. ;  but  whilst  keeping  on  this  bearing,  get  a 
sight  of  the  buoys  farther  in,  especially  the  Red  Spindle  one 
which  marks  the  spit  of  sand  at  the  end  of  Le  Touquet 
Point,  and  give  it  a  wide  berth  to  starboard,  sounding  all 
the  while.  The  sea  breaks  heavily  hereabouts,  so  the 
danger  of  touching  need  not  be  emphasised,  and  the  tide 

200 


Appendix 

rushes  over  this  point  at  five  knots.  Once  past  this  buoy, 
the  channel  is  easily  seen,  being  marked  by  stout  poles 
stuck  in  stone  dykes  upon  either  side,  for  over  two  miles, 
nearly  to  Etaples.  It  is  well,  however,  to  keep  sounding 
all  the  way,  as  there  are  unmarked  shoal  patches  in  this 
channel. 

I  don't  think  any  one  would  be  so  foolish  as  to  attempt 
this  entrance  at  night  for  the  fun  of  the  thing.  The  Sailing 
Directions  and  charts  are  unreliable,  and  as  no  pilot  will 
come  out  to  you  in  bad  weather,  it  is  no  use  as  a  place  to 
run  to  for  shelter.  So  I  heartily  recommend  giving  the 
Canche  a  wide  berth  at  night.  Under  those  circumstances 
it  would  be  better  to  remain  outside  in  not  less  than  twenty 
fathoms  of  water. 


THE  CANCHE  TO  THE  SOMME 

Between  these  two  rivers  the  coast  is  very  difficult  to  see 
in  wet  weather.  There  is  no  shelter  for  yachts  to  run  to 
between  the  two  places.  The  estuary  of  the  Authie  affords 
shelter  for  fishing-boats,  but  these  have  to  be  beached. 

The  Canche  estuary  will  be  cleared  at  high  water,  when 
the  tide  will  be  found  to  be  setting  along  the  coast  in  the 
direction  of  Boulogne,  until  about  five  hours  after  high  water, 
when  it  commences  to  run  towards  the  Somme. 

From  the  Red  Bell  Buoy  outside  the  Canche  the  course 
to  the  Black  Bell  Buoy  is  S.S.W.  J  W.  (eighteen  miles). 

With  wind  against  tide  a  very  steep  sea  runs  upon  the  top 
of  the  swell. 

The  thing  to  find  when  nearing  the  Somme  is  not  so  much 
the  Bell  Buoy  as  Point  St.  Quentin.  The  only  thing  to 
guide  one  with  regard  to  the  latter  is  the  lead  and  a  coast- 

20I 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine 

guard  station,  from  which  the  spit  juts  out  due  west.  The 
buoys  shown  upon  the  chart  look  very  pi6luresque,  but  as 
they  in  no  way  mark  the  channel,  they  are  quite  useless  for 
navigational  purposes.  When,  however,  Point  St.  Quentin 
has  been  picked  up,  sail  towards  Cayeux  until  one  of  the 
Black  Channel  Buoys  is  sighted,  then  sail  towards  Point 
Hourdel  until  a  sight  of  one  of  the  Red  Buoys  is  obtained. 
By  this  time  the  trend  of  the  channel  will  be  obvious  if 
the  line  of  buoys  which  marks  the  edges  of  it  cannot  already 
be  seen.  But  should  one  first  prefer  to  sail  on  to  the  Outer 
Bell  Buoy,  upon  rounding  it,  one  should  sail  in  the  direftion 
of  Point  Hourdel ;  in  either  case  the  lead  should  be  kept 
going.  The  pilotage  is  compulsory  for  vessels  over  ten  tons 
register.  The  tide  runs  from  six  to  seven  knots  at  springs. 
The  channel  is  well  buoyed  and  easy  to  work  up  to  where 
it  branches  off  in  one  dire6lion  to  Le  Crotoy  and  in  the  other 
to  St.  Valery.  From  here  it  is  rather  confusing,  and,  added 
to  this,  the  current  sets  across  the  banks  when  they  are 
covered.  There  would  be  no  great  danger  in  any  weather 
in  taking  ground  under  the  lee  of  a  bank  when  as  far  up 
the  Somme  as  this. 

The  most  comfortable  way  of  getting  to  St.  Valery  would 
be  to  bring  up  in  the  little  harbour  at  Hourdel,  and  ask  one 
of  the  fishermen  to  point  out  the  channels,  which  can  from 
there  be  seen  at  low  water,  being  then  mere  dribbles  upon 
the  wide  expanse  of  sand.  More  especially  will  this  advice 
be  appreciated  when  it  is  understood  that  the  trend  of  the 
channel  is  always  shifting,  the  buoys  being  moved  when 
necessary. 

To  get  into  Hourdel  from  seawards  hug  the  steep-to 
shingle  bank  upon  the  starboard  hand  and  the  deepest  water 
is  near  the  quay.  If  entering  there  from  St.  Valery,  give 
the  Red  Buoy  (which  at  low  water  is  aground)  a  wide  berth, 

202 


Appendix 

as  there  is  a  spit  running  out  in  its  diredlion  and  beyond  it 
from  the  south-east  side  of  the  harbour. 

The  greatest  care  should  be  used,  whensailing  toSt.  Valery, 
not  to  miss  the  end  of  the  stone  dyke  upon  the  end  of  which 
there  is  a  beacon,  and  just  off  the  end  there  was  a  black  buoy  ; 
this  must  be  rounded  to  port. 

Sail  right  up  between  this  dyke  and  the  town  quay,  where 
will  be  seen  scores  of  fishing-boats,  until  the  channel  turns 
a  little  to  starboard  in  the  diredion  of  the  harbour  and 
wharf.  Any  yacht  drawing  over  six  feet  should  have  a 
pilot. 

THE  SOMME  TO  LE  TREPORT 

With  a  decent  leading  wind  leave  St.  Valery  a  little  before 
high  water.  Should  the  keel  scrape  on  the  sand,  the  vessel 
must  be  kept  going  with  the  current ;  she  may  scrape  over 
the  bank,  but  if  she  is  turned  off  the  track  of  the  current, 
she  will  certainly  stick  there  until  the  next  tide,  for  the 
sand  quickly  piles  upon  anything  that  happens  to  be  athwart 
the  set  of  the  tide. 

Once  having  picked  up  the  main  channel,  the  Red  Buoys 
should  be  shaved  upon  the  port  hand  until  in  deep  water, 
which  will  be  found  about  \\  miles  from  Hourdel  Point. 

From  here,  with  Le  Crotoy  just  open  of  Point  Hourdel 
and  Cayeux  Lighthouse  bearing  S.E.  \  S.,  a  course  S.W. 
by  S.  will  lead  to  Le  Treport  about  ten  miles  away,  in  case 
it  cannot  be  seen.  Usually  the  tall  white  cliffs  which  com- 
mence at  the  town  of  Ault  are  visible.  Ault  must  not  be 
mistaken  for  Treport  and  the  course  doubted.  Treport  is 
in  a  valley  between  the  white  cliffs  some  five  miles  farther 
down  the  coast,  whereas  Ault  seems  to  be  toppling  off  the 
extreme  end  of  these  white  cliffs  on  to  the  low  ground  which 

203 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine 

exists  between  these  and  the  Somme.  Moreover  there  is  a 
lighthouse  at  Ault  upon  the  top  of  the  cliff  331  feet  above 
the  sea. 

With  a  W.N.W.  wind  it  will  be  well  to  get  a  good  offing, 
for  the  indrift  is  strong,  and  the  sea  farther  from  the  shore 
is  not  so  steep  as  it  is  over  the  banks  inshore.  With  a 
wind  from  W.  to  S.W.  it  would  be  best  to  make  two  long 
boards  of  it  out  seawards;  and,  as  there  is  no  shelter  to 
make  for  between  the  Somme  and  Treport  save  for  fishing- 
boats,  there  is  no  object  in  hugging  the  shore. 

At  lowest  springs  the  tide  at  Treport  recedes  to  within  a 
cable  length  of  the  jetty  ends,  and  there  is  never  more  than 
six  feet  upon  the  bar  at  low  water.  The  sea  breaks  heavily 
upon  the  bar,  and  the  high  cliff  to  westward  of  the  entrance 
causes  a  back  eddy  of  wind  which  always  sets  a  vessel  aback 
whilst  she  is  in  the  midst  of  these  rollers,  so  it  is  imperative 
to  have  quite  a  lot  of  weigh  on  when  entering. 

When  about  to  enter,  ascertain  either  by  the  lead  or  by 
reading  the  tidal  signals  shown  upon  the  jetty,  what  depth 
of  water  there  is  across  the  bar.  Having  made  sure  that 
there  is  enough  and  to  spare ;  when  about  three-quarters  of 
a  mile  from  the  jetty  heads,  the  Church  of  St.  Jacques  should 
be  brought  to  bear  between  these,  or  so  that  you  can  see 
into  the  harbour  between  them.  Either  of  these  bearings 
will  lead  clear  of  the  hummock  of  shingle  which  piles  itself 
immediately  to  the  eastward  of  the  entrance. 

Quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  shore  to  the  westward  of  the 
entrance  are  two  patches  of  rocks.  These  must  be  avoided, 
so  if  one  happens  to  miss  the  entrance,  it  would  be  impera- 
tive to  make  out  to  sea  again  at  once. 

Upon  getting  between  the  piers  you  will  find  the  swell 
still  strong,  and  care  should  be  taken  that  it  does  not  set 
you  on  to  one  or  other  of  the  jetties,  for  although  these  are 

204 


Appendix 

of  masonry,  being  built  upon  arches,  they  permit  part  of 
the  swell  to  pass  through. 

Yachts  should  bring  up  alongside  the  quay  to  the  west- 
ward or  make  fast  to  one  of  the  fishing-boats  alongside  it. 
When  taking  ground  alongside  these  boats,  care  should  be 
used,  as  they  have  rather  deep  false  keels  and  very  hard 
bilges,  and  should  your  yacht  not  draw  much,  she  might  at 
low  water  find  herself  supported  only  by  her  shrouds  upon 
the  bilge  of  the  fishing-boat.  Some  of  these  vessels  are 
coated  with  soft  tar,  often  a  quarter  of  an  inch  thick  ;  so  old 
fenders  are  a  necessity,  and  plenty  of  them. 

When  about  to  enter  the  dock,  which  should  be  done  at 
about  half-an-hour  before  high  water,  first  attrad  the 
attention  of  the  bridge-keeper  by  blowing  several  blasts  upon 
the  foghorn  whilst  approaching.  The  gate  opens  in  to 
the  inner  port,  which  like  the  harbour  dries  out.  Keep 
well  in  the  middle  of  the  channel,  as  there  are  submerged 
stakes  and  old  wrecks  upon  either  hand.  When  approach- 
ing the  dock,  give  more  foghorn,  and  when  through,  turn 
immediately  to  the  left  and  warp  alongside  the  quay,  where 
the  yacht  will  be  clear  of  the  warps  of  steamers  as  they 
make  their  exit.  The  dock-keeper  will  supply  water  for 
a  trifle. 

LE   TREPORT   TO   DIEPPE 

The  current  ofi^shore  commences  to  run  in  the  diredlion 
of  Dieppe  at  about  half-an-hour  after  high  water;  so  by 
getting  out  of  dock  at  high  water,  by  the  time  the  vessel 
is  clear  of  the  jetties,  she  will  have  the  stream  with  her. 

By  standing  out  well  to  sea,  and  by  keeping  the  eastern 
jetty  end  well  open  of  the  western  one,  Les  Granges  Rocks 
will  be  cleared.     With  a  northerly  wind  make  short  tacks 

205 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine 

across  the  bar  until  half  a  mile  out  to  sea.  The  greatest 
care  should  be  employed  not  to  get  the  vessel  between  stays, 
for  should  that  happen,  the  tide  will  do  its  best  to  set  her 
on  the  rocks. 

Once  having  got  this  offing,  the  voyage  to  Dieppe  will 
be  plain  sailing.  The  course  is  W.S.W.  about  14  miles, 
the  only  trouble  being  the  Ridens  de  Neuvillette  and  de 
Belleville,  where  steep  seas  will  be  encountered  with  a 
head  wind. 

A  very  strong  tide  sets  out  of  Dieppe  harbour.  For  a 
small  trifle  men  track  small  craft  in,  which  saves  a  lot  of 
unnecessary  trouble. 

Care  should  be  used  not  to  enter  about  the  time  that  a 
steamer  is  expected  (see  Chapter  XII). 

If  the  docks  are  closed,  as  they  doubtless  would  be  by 
the  time  of  a  vessel's  arrival  from  Treport,  she  should  pro- 
ceed up  the  outer  port  in  the  direction  of  the  Church  of 
St.  Jacques,  whose  towers  will  be  seen  above  the  houses,  and 
be  moored  to  the  south  quay  near  the  entrance  to  the 
fishing  harbour.  Any  of  the  fishermen  will  tell  one  which 
dock  is  the  best  to  enter. 


DIEPPE   TO   ST.  VALERY-EN-CAUX 

The  stream  in  the  offing  commences  to  run  towards  St. 
Valery-en-Caux  at  about  one  hour  after  high  water.  A 
course  from  the  jetty  ends  W.  by  N.  ^  N.  (5  miles)  will 
clear  the  outlying  rocks  which  extend  three-quarters  of  a 
mile  seawards  oif  Point  d'Ailly.  From  thence  when  the 
lighthouse  bears  abeam,  a  course  W.  (io|  miles)  will  lead 
to  a  point  a  mile  seaward  of  the  entrance  and  clear  of  the 
foul  ground  three-quarters  of  a  mile  eastward  of  the  end 

206 


Appendix 

of  the  St.  Valery  jetties.  Should  a  vessel  arrive  here  later 
than  half-tide,  it  would  not  be  safe  for  her  to  attempt  the 
entrance  should  she  draw  over  4  feet  6  inches. 

The  bar  is  always  shifting,  and  it  dries  out  much  farther 
than  the  chart  indicates. 

When  entering,  the  deepest  water  will  be  found  near 
the  eastern  jetty. 

Bringing  up  alongside  the  eastern  quay  near  one  of  the 
iron  ladders,  bollards  will  be  found  upon  the  quay  and 
chains  attached  to  rings  fixed  in  its  side,  to  which  vessels  can 
make  fast,  fore  and  aft.  Beware  of  the  sluicing  operation, 
which  takes  place  at  low  water  (see  Chapter  XIV).  There 
is  a  small  tidal  steep-to  harbour  for  fishing-boats  to  the 
left  of  the  entrance  to  the  main  harbour,  but  as  vessels 
would  ground  upon  the  shingle  at  about  an  angle  of  thirty 
degrees,  fore  and  aft,  it  is  inconvenient,  and  though  one 
would  here  escape  the  effect  of  the  sluicing,  it  is  hardly 
to  be  recommended. 

There  is  only  one  wet  dock,  and  the  best  berth  is  along- 
side the  western  quay.  As  the  water  used  for  sluicing  is 
suddenly  released  from  this  basin,  thereby  reducing  the  depth 
some  eight  feet,  warps  should  be  slacked  off  when  it  takes 
place.  This  trouble,  of  course,  would  be  avoided  if  the  craft 
were  warped  alongside  another  vessel. 


ST.    VALERY-EN-CAUX   TO   FECAMP 

The  stream  in  the  ofiing  commences  to  run  in  the  diredlion 
of  Fecamp  at  about  \\  hours  after  high  water,  and  it  con- 
tinues until  about  \\  hours  before  the  next  high  water. 

From  5-  mile  farther  seaward,  in  the  line  of  the  jetties, 
a  course  W.  -^  N.  (5f  miles)  leads  to  the  bend  in  the  coast 

207 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine 

abreast  of  Veulettes,  from  where  a  course  W.  by  S.  \  S. 
(io|-  miles)  places  one  in  position  for  entering  Fecamp. 
Having  allowed  a  good  amount  for  the  set  of  the  tide 
across  the  entrance  (it  runs  3|-)  knots  and  got  safely  be- 
tween the  jetties,  the  harbour  which  opens  in  a  spacious 
square  will  be  found  some  distance  farther  in,  to  the  right. 
At  the  southern  corner  is  the  entrance  to  the  basin,  but  by 
first  bringing  up  to  an  anchor  in  the  middle  of  the  harbour, 
contact  with  the  greasy  sides  of  the  quay  will  be  avoided 
(see  Chapter  XXII).  There  will  be  probably  enough 
water  to  lie  afloat,  but,  if  not,  the  bottom  is  excellent  for 
grounding  on. 


FECAMP   TO   LE   HAVRE 

The  stream  runs  in  the  diredlion  of  Cape  d'Antifer  from 
if  hours  before  until  5  hours  after  high  water.  From 
this  headland  the  coast  takes  a  sharp  bend  in  a  S.W.  direc- 
tion as  far  as  Cape  La  Heve.  Between  these  points  there 
is  not  much  strength  of  tide  inshore  with  the  ebb,  and 
what  there  is,  seems  to  set  offshore.  The  tidal  stream  of 
the  river  Seine  unites  with  the  main  stream  at  a  varying 
point  somewhere  about  six  miles  northward  of  Cape  La 
Heve.  Therefore  it  will  be  necessary  to  arrive  upon  this 
meridian  not  later  than  the  Seine  tide  starts  to  flow,  which 
would  be  about  \\  hours  before  high  water  at  Le  Havre. 

The  course  from  Fecamp  to  Etretat  is  W.  f  S.  (yj  miles), 
from  thence  to  Cape  d'Antifer  it  is  S.W.  by  W.  (2J  miles), 
from  there  to  La  Heve  S.W.  J  S.  (11 J  miles),  and  from 
La  Heve  to  the  entrance  to  Le  Havre  S.E.  by  S.  (2|- 
miles). 

With  the    wind    offshore,   hot  squalls    come   down   the 

208 


Appendix 

valleys,  which  should  be  carefully  watched  for,  as  the  wind 
comes  in  a  down-draught. 

With  a  light  head-wind  it  will  probably  be  necessary  to 
anchor  for  one  tide,  as  there  is  no  sheltered  anchorage,  and 
the  shore  is  very  steep  too.  When  past  Cape  d'Antifer, 
however,  there  is  a  shoal  patch,  opposite  the  coastguard 
house  at  Bruneval,  and  at  St.  Jouin  and  Hennequeville  are 
others ;  but  in  no  case  should  shore  be  approached  nearer 
than  \  mile,  for  there  are  submerged  rocks  all  down  the 
coast. 

The  best  guide  is,  of  course,  the  lead,  but  in  using  the 
lead,  care  should  still  be  used  not  to  stand  in  beyond  the 
above-mentioned  distance,  because  it  is  difficult  to  make 
sure  of  the  ship's  position,  as  none  of  the  villages  except 
Bruneval  can  be  seen  from  within  two  or  three  miles  sea- 
wards. 

Having  picked  up  the  Bell  Buoy,  opposite  Cape  La 
Heve,  shave  it  upon  the  port  hand  and  set  course  for  Le 
Havre  jetties,  but  keep  a  good  allowance  for  the  set  of  the 
tide,  which  is  strongest  immediately  across  the  entrance. 
Indeed,  the  northern  jetty  should  be  hugged  for  all  it  is 
worth  until  the  vessel  is  right  on  it.  If  one  arrives  by 
night,  and  would  prefer  to  wait  until  daylight  to  enter  dock, 
a  good  anchorage  in  the  outer  harbour  is  to  be  found 
nearly  opposite  the  Frascati  Casino.  Should  one,  however, 
prefer  to  go  straight  into  dock,  sail  up  the  Avant  Port, 
passing  the  outer  harbour  upon  the  port  hand  until  a  cul- 
de-sac  of  dock-gates  is  reached,  where  the  port  widens. 
Better  still,  follow  the  north  quay  until  in  it  a  wide  opening 
is  found,  which  leads  to  the  Bassin  du  Roi.  Should  the  dock 
not  be  open,  the  best  place  to  wait  is  at  the  right-hand  side 
quay,  where  one  can  warp  to  bollards.  When  the  dock- 
gates  are  opened,  upon  blowing  one's  horn  the  bridge  will 

209  o 


From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine 

be  opened,  and  when  in  the  dock,  the  best  berth  is  alongside 
one  of  the  pilot  boats,  well  clear  of  the  entrance. 

A  small  yacht  would  be  comfortable  here  for  a  short 
stay,  but  if  she  is  making  a  long  visit,  it  would  be  better  to 
take  her  into  the  Bassin  du  Commerce,  where  yachts  bring 
up  ;  this  should  be  done  by  daylight  if  possible. 


210 


INDEX  OF  PLACES 


ABBEVILLE,  59-70,  74 
-^^  Aiguille  d'Etretat,  L',  122 
Ailly,  the  Point  d',  104,  105,  206 
Aizier,  142 

Alprech,  Cape  1',  21,  36,  39,  200 
Ambleteuse  Road,  199 
Amont,  the  Falaise  d',  122 
Amont,  the  Porte  d',  122 
Antifer,  Cape  d',  120,  124,  162, 
163,  165,  176,  177,  208,  209 
Arques,  the  river,  103 
Audresselles,  21 
Ault,  203 
Aval,  Porte  d',  122 

g ASSURE  de  Baas,  the,  199 

Beachy  Head,  180,  183,  186 
Bethune,  the  river,  103 
Blanc  Nez,  9,  20,  198 
Boulogne,  21,  23,  24,  25-32,  34, 
36,  52,  74,  97,  199,  200,  201 
Bresle,  the  valley  of  the,  92 
Brest,  100 
Bruneval,  209 
Burnham,  180 

QAEN,  158 

Calais,  7,  9-19,  71,  198 
Camiers  Lighthouse,  the,  200 
Canche,   the   river,   39,   41,    44, 
200,  201 


Carnot  Breakwater,  the,  38 

Caudebec,  142,  144 

Cayeux,      60,     74,      75,      202, 

203 
Chambre    des    Demoiselles,    La, 

122 
Chapman  Lighthouse,  the,  193 
Charing  Cross,  2 
Colonne  de  la  Grande  Armce,  32, 

199 
Constantinople,  128 
Corvette,  La,  141 
Courbe,  La,  142 
Courgain,  the,  72 
Creche,  Point  de  la,  32,  199 
Criqueboeuf,  150 
Crotoy,  Le,  74,  202,  203 

DEAL,  7 

Deauville  (suburb  of  Trou- 

ville),  144,  148 
Des  Flaques,  142 
Dieppe,       74,      94-104,      205, 

206 
Dives,  the  river,  144 
Dos  d'Ane,  the,  142 
Dover,  190,  191,  192,  197 
Downs,  the,  191,  192 
Duclair,  143,  144 
Dungeness,  187,  190 
Dunkirk,  8 


Index  of  Places 


FRITH,  3 

Etaples,  39,  40,  41-50,  201 
Etretat,  121,  122,  164,  208 
Eu,  88,  89,  90 


T  ES  GRANGES  Rocks,  205 

Liane,  the  river,  25,  34 
Liverpool,  75 
Long-nose,  5 
Long  Reach,  3 
Lower  Hope  Point,  4 


pAGNET    Point,    121,    166, 

Fecamp,    120,    121,    161,    167-     MAILLERAYE,  La,^H3 
173,    176,     184,     186,     207,  '" 

208 

Folkestone,  26,  190 


QOODWIN    Sands,    the,    6, 

197 
Gravesend,  4 
Grays,  4 
Greenhithe,  3 
Greenwich,  3 
Griz  Nez,   8,   21,   22,  23,   190, 

199 
Gull  Light-vessel,  the,  6,  7 
Gull  Stream,  197 

■LJAMMERSMITH,  i,  194 

Hardiers,  the,  123 
Harfleur,  134-136 
Hastings,  188,  189 
Havre,  Le,  5,  74,  120,  124,  125, 

127-137,  154,  159)  i6o>  i^ij 

163,  208 
Hennequeville,  150,  209 
Henriville,  34 
Heme  Bay,  5 
Heve,  Cape   La,  120,  124,  162, 

163,  208,  209 
Honfleur,    128,    139,    144,    150, 

152,  153-159 
Hourdel,  Le,  75,  202,  203 


Manneporte,  La,  122 
Margate,  5,  86 
Mers  (Treport),  81,  89 
Mesnil,  Le,  102 
Meules,  Les,  143 
Montmartre,  86,  128 
Montreuil-sur-mer,  48,  49 


AJEUVILLE  -  SOUS  -  MON- 

^^    TREUIL,  49 

Newhaven,       175,      183,      184, 

189 
Nore,  the,  4 

North  Foreland,  the,  4,  5 
Noyelles,  61,  70 

QSTEND,  97 
Ovens  Buoy,  4 

pARIS,  128,  148,  154 

Paris  Plage,  39,  44,  46,  47 
Penne  de  Pic,  151 
Piette,  La,  143 
Pollet,  La,  99 
Pool  of  London,  the,  2 
Portel,  Le,  32,  34-36 
Pourville,  104 

GUILLEBCEUF,     140,    141, 
144 


Index  of  Places 


J^ADICATEL,  140 

Ramsgate,  5,  197 
Ridens  de  Belleville,  206 
Ridens  de  Neuvillette,  206 
Ridens  des  Quenocs,  the,  20 
Rille,  139,  140 

Roche  de  Sainte  Olive,  La,  123 
Roque,  La,  140 
Rouen,  49,  138,  143,  144 
Rye,  188 

CT.  AUBIN,  valley  of,  106 

St.  Jouin,  209 
St,  Leonard,  141 
Ste.  Marguerite,  104 
St.  Michel,  Raz  de,  106 
St.  Quentin,  Point,  201,  202 
St.   Valery-en-Caux,    106,    iio- 

119,  129,  206,  207 
St.    Valery-sur-Somme,    26,    55, 

57-61,    64,    65,    70,    71-74, 

202,  203 
Sandgate,  191 
Seven  Sisters,  the,  183 
Sheerness,  128 
Somme   River    and    Canal,    the, 

51-56,  62,  65,    71,  76,   201- 

204 
Southampton,  153 


Southend,  4 

South  Foreland,  7,  8 

South  Sand  Head,  7,  197 

HTANCARVILLE,  140 
■*■     Tancarville  Canal,  the,  134 
Thames  estuary,  78,  180 
Tilburyness,  4 
Touques,  146 
Touqucs,  the  river,  144 
Touquet,  Le,  39,  45 
Touquet,  Le,  Point,  200 
Traverse,  the,  142 
Treport,  Le,  75,  79,  81-93,  203, 

204,  205 
Trouville,    124,    128,    131,    137, 
138,  144,  14^-150 

yARANGEVILLE,  104 

Vasoui,  151 
Veules,  105,  118 
Vieuxport,  140 
Villequier,  142 
Villerville,  150 

RAPPING,  5 

Wimereux,  32-34 
Wimille,  the  river,  33 
Woolwich,  3 


Printed  by  Ballantyne,  Hanson  b'  Co. 
Edinburgh  b'  London 


\ 


NORTH    SEA. 


Cha^rt  sho>jOir\g  the  trc\ck 

AND    THE    INFLUENCC     OF 
WINDS      •«    TIDES. 

'^^'v^7^"''^-.'"v'';^'i'y.'?g 


.      «.>'«<tiM\     at    Mw     «in4. 


PU\NSofDOCK5 


CALAIS. 


LAND  .     ^  ■      DRY  AT  -♦-  WHERI  TO  «  BEST  DQCkS 

-■     l_OWEST   TIDES  .  BRIItO  UP.  FOR  YACHTS. 


BOULOGNE. 


DC28  P4x 

Pears,  Charles,  18/3- 
From  the  Thames  to  the  Seine 
; 

UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


